Angel Eyes
by Tianis
Summary: {COMPLETE} Horatio tries to decipher two mysteries at once! (A few spoilers from "Loyalty)
1. Escape

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Horatio, the characters, the books, or the TV programme.

First of all - _La Sombra_ means "The Shadow". It is not a racist term.

Second of all. My writing style may change as I get into further chapters - this isn't particularly Hornblower-esque! Bear with me. And this was very much inspired by the Scarlet Pimpernel and"La Aguja Sangrienta" (which is amazing and also not owned by me).

**Enjoy**

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**La Sombra**

**One: Escape**

The sea lay silent and blue in the bay beneath the whitewashed cliffs. The breakers rolled themselves onto the wet sand, leaving driftwood and other strange prizes. Woods covered most of the steep climb from the beach, thick green leaves muffling all movement along the peat path with dappled shadow. Near the peak of the cliff was a wide, flat building of white rock. A battery, its canons facing over the bay, but stilled and quiet as if baffled by the daybreak. The path led to a large wooden door, guarded by a single uniformed man, who looked sleepy in the mid-morning sun. Silent footballs noted his presence, and shadows dipped and swelled. The guard yawned hugely, leaning on his musket. A shadow stepped behind him nearby, and the bushes to the left of the pathway shivered in anticipation. The guard noticed the movement and stood alert again, tilting his rifle. The bushes made no more motion, and he decided it must have just been a small creature burrowing in the leafy undergrowth. Besides, his brain was far too addled with the Southern French sun. There was a step to his right shoulder and the muddling sun flashed on metal.

"_Bonjour monsieur_." Quipped a voice. The guarded turned to see a dagger plunge at his heart, silencing his cry. The body tumbled to the floor, the musket rolling away in hopelessness. The killer lifted the keys from the guard's belt and unlocked the door, tipping a pistol in readiness. No retaliation came, and the killer beckoned to the others, who emerged silently from the bushes. A small smile crept over the leader's lips as he whispered instructions. Two of the followers stood guard with pistols and cutlasses as the killer dipped a finger into one of two pouches attached to his belt and placed a black cross of soot on the dead guard's forehead. After that, he rose and led the other two companions inside.

Horatio Hornblower rested his head sadly against the cold iron bars. The others sat in the cell dejectedly, pondering on their misfortune. Every now and then, one would glance to the tall silhouette of their captain, but the dark, curly-haired head faced away from them, offering no consolation. He sighed heavily, rapping his knuckles on a bar, the blank wall ahead of him offering no comfort from the visions of the gallows that filled him. He heard footsteps the other side of the door at the end of the hallway and looked up sharply. Horatio hurried away from the bars, his men standing. They were not the footsteps of the guards – they were quick and light. Keys rattled in the lock and the door swung open. There were three men, who approached the cell quickly. All of them were dressing in black – head to foot. Black boots, black breeches, black shirts and coats, even the ribbons tying their hair were black. Two of them had ebony black hair, and their faces were painted with soot – the only colour from their eyes and mouths. But the third, who seemed to be the leader, covered his hair completely. His whole face, apart from his lips and chin, was covered by a black mask and shaded by a wide-brimmed hat – also black. He wasn't particularly tall and significantly slighter in frame than his companions. Horatio presumed he was young. The leader unlocked the cell door and Horatio prayed for his sword.

"Come." The leader beckoned. Horatio hesitated.

"Mr Hornblower, sir?" Matthews, behind him, asked.

"Quick!" The man-in-black snapped. His voice was husky and rapid. After another second of indecision, Horatio nodded shortly and followed the rescuers outside. The escaped prisoners blinked in the sunlight, startled at the appearance of two more men clad in black. Holding his finger to his lips, the leader beckoned them down the slope. The other soot-covered men spread themselves down the hill, scouting for any more guards. The leader took tem to the bay and pointed to a jagged slump of rocks. "There is a boat behind there. One of your fleet waits in the next bay, east of here. The tide is smooth – you can row." His accent was implacable. His hands were gloved, but they seemed small, and for that Horatio wouldn't place him older than seventeen

"Thank you." He said gratefully. The man's eyes fixed on his, and Horatio was taken aback. Behind the silk mask was a pair of almond-shaped eyes, with long smoky lashes. They were wide and bright and so very blue – like cornflowers or forget-me-nots. Purer than the turquoise of a tropical sea, and deeper than the light splash of sky blue. A shrill whistle blew twice from the path they had just left.

"Go." The man snapped, looking away and breaking the spell. He drew his pistol from his belt, knelt and dug an X into the sand with his fingers. Horatio made no move, whilst his men ran for the rocks. The man took a pouch from his belt and began to pour gunpowder into the cross-shaped trough. "Go!" He cried angrily, using his pistol hammer to light the powder before rising to his feet. He started towards the slope.

"Wait!" Horatio called, holding out a hand. The man paused, the gunpowder hissing and flaming at the Englishman's feet. "Who are you?" The masked man twitched a smile over his shoulder.

"They call me _La Sombra_." He answered, and ran. Horatio only waited a moment more. The simultaneous eruption of gunfire and Matthews shouting to him spurred him into action. He leapt into the boat and snatched an oar.

"HEAVE!" He roared.


	2. La Sombra

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of it.

Before I go any further - I apologise for my poor French! I'm using my limited knowledge and the internet to do it.

**Enjoy**

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**Two: La Sombra**

The ship creaked and rocked on the waves, and Horatio Hornblower stood to attention before the Admiral, callused, square hands clasped behind his back. For someone so young, he was remarkably mature, and yet remarkably good-looking. He was tall and fairly lean, but muscular and solid. His dark brown – almost black – hair was forever in unruly curls, tied with a ribbon at the back of his neck. He had an angular jaw, a tiny cleft in his chin and hollowed cheeks below bright, intelligent eyes, the colour of coffee. His expressive eyebrows gave away most of what he thought, but not today. Admiral Pellew in front of him, his auburn hair laced with silver, his lined face grave.

"Four days ago, you put your ship in danger off the coast of Southern France. Foolishly."

"Yessir." Horatio answered expressionlessly.

"You were under strict instruction to acquire no unwanted attention, but… Many of your men were killed and some, including yourself, were caught." Horatio bit the inside of his cheek and flushed. "Yet, you escape unscathed." Pellew stopped his pacing and narrowed his eyes at the captain. "How?" He asked slowly.

"He called himself _La Sombra_. Sir." Horatio answered, allowing himself to make eye contact. Pellew blanched in surprise.

"_La Sombra_."

"Yessir. A masked man, sir, with several followers."

"Clad all in black?"

"Yes." Horatio was so surprised, he forgot his courtesy. Pellew ignored it.

"Yes, I have heard of a man. Young, only appears when one is in need." He rubbed his chin, bowing his head in thought. "Well, that will be all Mr Hornblower." Horatio bowed, then hesitated.

"Sir?"

"Yes man, what is it?" Pellew had already begun to rifle through his papers. Horatio bit his lip.

"_La Sombra_. Are there many reports on him, sir?"

"Several." Pellew watched the younger man closely, then strode over to his bookcase and opened a glass-front door. After a moment of perusal, he selected a brown leather book and slapped it on the table in front of Horatio. "They are all noted in there, sir. Now, if you don't mind…" Horatio bowed again, and opened the cabin door to leave. "Before I forget, Horatio, you are to come ashore with me tonight. Some noble or other is having a dinner in Portsmouth and I am instructed to bring one of my commanders."

"Yessir. I'll see you ashore, sir." Horatio smiled, and left.

"_La Sombra_." Pellew chuckled to the now-empty cabin, shaking his head. He sat and picked up a map. "I'm sure I shall hear more of such ridiculous escapades before the year is out." He glanced to the door where Horatio had just left. "I only hope they are good reports."

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The _Hotspur_ was all but deserted as Horatio boarded his sloop. After the grandeur of Pellew's _Indefatigable_, his cabin seemed rather small and almost squalid. His sea chest sat open, papers and clothes and instruments spread across every surface. He cleared a space and settled down; running his hands curiously over the cover of the book Pellew had given to him. The leather was old – cracked and worn at the corners as opposed to smooth and silken like a new binding would be. The pages inside were thick and yellow and the writings were small and loopy to begin with, changing hand several times and stopped nearly two-thirds into the book. Obviously there was more to be said in this story, Horatio mused, opening to the first page and reading the date. Two years ago, the first encounter with _La Sombra_. He looked around to check there were no men near to his door, and pulled a lantern from its hook, settling it next to him to fight the dusk gloom creeping through the sloop. Tucking his hands close to him, Horatio began to read;

_…La Sombra appeared like a ghost, clad in black. His guerrilla followers were similarly dressed – their faces blacked out with soot. La Sombra, a small man by any proportion, is one of few words and brave actions. He led us through the forests to the bridge where our comrades were scheduled to meet us. And then he disappeared like a shadow – no trace of his presence…_

_…The French revolutionaries had been tracking us for days and were close. La Sombra came to us in the night and led us behind enemy lines. He refused to fight alongside us, but he and his guerrilla men attacked like things possessed when we were almost discovered by revolutionary scouts…_

_…Our duty was to reach the battery and put it out of action, but we were cornered by French. La Sombra and his men appeared from the woods like ghosts and killed every one. Without a word, La Sombra placed a soot-cross on each forehead of each man he had killed…_

_…He used gunpowder to form an 'X' in the earth, and used a pistol to light it. It seemed folly – there was nothing on the end of the powders, but it seemed that all La Sombra wished to do was to scorch a mark in the ground…_

_…His mark is a cross. He carries two pouches – soot and gunpowder – and employs both to leave his signature. He is truly a madman. But a great madman, and one I would fight side by side with…_

"Sir?" A knock at the door stirred Horatio from his readings.

"Come in." He smiled at his first lieutenant. "Ah, Mr Bush." William Bush smiled at his captain and gave a quick bow.

"Admiral's compliments, sir. It is time to go ashore."

"Ah, yes, thank you." Horatio rose, leaving the book on the table, and brushed down his coat. Tilting his hat over his hair at a jaunty angle, he looked enquiringly at Bush. "How do I look?"

"Very dashing sir." Bush smirked, and Horatio tutted, but said nothing, simply led the way on deck and into the boat to take him from their anchorage to the quayside. The oars stilled their splashing, and Horatio stepped off the boat onto the solid stonework of Portsmouth dock. Home… He bowed to Pellew who waited on the quayside at the top of the steps.

"Good evening, Mr Hornblower."

"Good evening sir." Pellew indicated to a waiting carriage. "Thank you sir." He gripped the sides and hoisted himself into the trap, careful not to jab anything with his sword. He sat on the velvet-covered benches, wishing that it were a more comfortable journey and the whole of Portsmouth had not been laid with cobbles as they trundled their way through Portsmouth to the outskirts, where the houses were manors and the grounds were acres of greenery and there were views of the sea – the ships like toys in the port. A servant opened the door and Horatio stepped down, looking up at the manor as Pellew disembarked. It was a white, flat-fronted building with a pillar-steadied porch covering a green front door with coloured glass. Lanterns spilt golden pools on the marble steps, and more light poured from the tall windows. Faintly, Horatio could hear merry-making above the snort of the horses and the scrape of hooves on gravel.

"Don't just stand there, man." Pellew snapped, leading the way and nodding shortly to the doorman who opened the door two a mahogany-panelled hallway.

Great portraits hung on the walls, and a crystal chandelier drooped over their heads. Mahogany furniture flanked them, down each cream-painted wall. A wide staircase, laid with scarlet carpet, led into the upper floors, and more scarlet rugs lined the floor every six paces. Doors led off the hallway both left and right, and the doorway at the end of the hallway, past the stairs, emitted smells of cooking. A door opened to their right and a gentleman emerged in a tailcoat, holding a silver-topped cane.

"Ah! Admiral!" The man cried. Pellew smiled tightly and bowed.

"Mr Langdon."

"Come, come, man, join the fray!" Mr Langdon chortled, waving a fat hand at the two. He was short and rather rotund, with a pink face and red button nose above a large grey moustache. He wore a grey wig with great pride, never realising that it never sat quite right. He owned much of the estate around Portsmouth and even more in London, and was ridiculously rich, as well as proprietor of this such establishment, Pellew told Horatio under his breath, and it would do well to entertain his humour.

The room was distinctly red – red carpets, curtains and furniture coverings. A large tapestry hung on the wall near an enormous fireplace and more mahogany furniture lazed over the room. Women in full skirts and elaborate hair dotted the room amongst cigar-smoking, brandy-drinking men in evening coats. Mr Langdon made a beeline for a table near the centre of the room.

"Pellew, I would like you to meet my wife, Cecilia." A lady of tall and bony proportions stood and dipped in a curtsey. She had a long, thin neck and sharp features, with hazel eyes and flaming-red hair. Pellew and Horatio bowed. "Mr Brocklehurst, and his wife – my sister – Emma." Two more stood. Mrs Brocklehurst was very much like her brother – plump and pink-cheeked, it far better suited her than her sibling – and Mr Brocklehurst was a tall, grave man with little to say unless it was serious and important. "This is Admiral Pellew and…" Mr Langdon looked enquiringly at Horatio, who opened his mouth to speak.

"Captain Hornblower, of the _Hotspur_." Pellew interjected quickly. Horatio clamped his jaw shut, and bowed low to hide his offence.

"Ah yes. Quite an infamous name you have, Mr Hornblower." Mr Brocklehurst announced, sitting back down from where he had risen in greeting. Horatio quirked a smile.

"Thank you sir." Mr Brocklehurst raised and eyebrow and harrumphed as if it were not such a compliment as Horatio was assuming. A young lady still sat at the table, and Horatio tried not to look at her too closely, yet found his gaze drifting. She wore a dark blue dress, and her satiny honey-coloured hair in ringlets tied high on her head, as was the fashion. She was calmly inspecting her fingernails. Through the folds of her dress, Horatio saw a delicately curved woman, and found her fascinating.

"Admiral Pellew, Mr Hornblower, this is my daughter, Elizabeth." Mr Brocklehurst said shortly, noticing the young captain's gaze. At her name, Elizabeth glanced up and caught Horatio's look with a glint in her eye.


	3. Dinner and Conversations

**Three: Dinner and Conversations**

The dinner was delicious, but Horatio could not concentrate on the food or the conversation. He was rather fascinated, in fact, with Elizabeth Brocklehurst. She could be no older than eighteen. Her face was pale and freckly and quite dignified. Her neck was slender and smooth, and her hands were small and dainty. She was almost tall for a woman, but only reached his breast bone. Her eyes… almond-shaped, framed with long, curled lashes a few shades darker than her hair and smoky. Her eyes were blue – blue as a sapphire or forget-me-nots. They were flecked with gold around her pupil, but it did not taint them, rather enhance them. They had a fiery glint, and her pink, full lips were flanked by dimples that showed frequently in soft smiles. Her brows were expressive and often told a different story to the words she spoke in her gentle, sweet tone that held such authority over him. She was intelligent and witty, and opinionated to the exasperation of her mother, who felt disgraced of such a spirited daughter, but loved her dearly and wouldn't dream of stopping the scathing comments that Elizabeth provided to the meal. Being so young, no one took offence to them, which seemed to infuriate Elizabeth, as she was disregarded as a child who knew little of politics.

The meal was cleared away and the women retired to the drawing room whilst brandy and cigars were handed to the men. Conversation was light and masculine, and Horatio had little interest in it – the prices of properties and horses. Ships; that was where his interests lay. The wide, brisk sea. Freedom. The conversation moved on to France.

"So when do you think old Boney will give it up?" Mr Langdon announced confidently to Pellew. Ever the diplomat, Pellew smiled and pondered his answer.

"I think there's fight in France yet. We shall see."

"Mr Hornblower? What is your opinion?" Mr Langdon turned to the captain, who felt all eyes on him. He hesitated, disliking the attention and the question.

"Well, France is a passionate country, sir, whether revolutionary or royalist. I think it is for France to decide when Bonaparte will stop fighting." Pellew nodded at him slightly. _Prudent, Mr Hornblower_, Horatio silently heard his admiral's words and hid his smile.

"Shall we retire, gentlemen?" Mr Langdon eventually said, and led the way into the drawing room, where the women sat. Horatio noticed Elizabeth lounging on a _chaise-longue_ near the fire, and wondered at her familiarity. That was it… she was familiar. With a pang, he noticed that she had Archie's nose and freckles. Archie… he turned away, agreeing to play cards.

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She paid little attention to the conversation. Such dinner evenings bored her anyway, and the company drove her mad. Elizabeth sighed to herself. Megan wasn't here to rescue her, and none of the men would entertain her in stimulating discussions, which was probably her father's presence. He was too stern for his own good, sometimes. She watched the cards closely, and in particular, Mr Hornblower. He was remarkably handsome, she thought. Quiet and calculating, but very intelligent behind those soft brown eyes, Elizabeth liked him, but wished he wasn't such a gentleman. She'd had far too many of those. He was winning at cards, too, which seemed to ruffle her father at least. Most men were too shy to truly compete with Mr Brocklehurst.

"Mr Hornblower had an encounter with _La Sombra_ recently." Admiral Pellew announced, dragging Elizabeth's musings back to the present. She felt a jolt in her whole body, and clenched her hands in her lap. Mr Hornblower blushed and cleared his throat as her uncle and father looked expectant. Glancing round the room, Elizabeth noticed the increased attention from her mother and aunt. The other guests had left soon after the meal, and she was glad of it.

"Well?" Prompted her uncle. "What was he like?" Mr Hornblower considered his answer for a moment, staring at the cards he held in his hand as if they would provide a solution to the attention.

"Mysterious." Mr Hornblower eventually replied. "He didn't say much – he's someone who would rather use actions as opposed to words." He shrugged, placing down a card. All men paused to see the number, before they continued.

"What did he say though? More to the point – how did he _sound_?" Mr Langdon asked. Mr Hornblower frowned in question.

"Some say he is French; a noble or other fighting against Bonaparte." Mr Brocklehurst added.

"I've heard he's Spanish – hence the name." Mr Langdon interrupted. Pellew sucked in his breath – Elizabeth had always liked him, a straight-talking, forward-thinking man, who hated such gossip that irritated her.

"And I heard that he's English. The rumour is that he got the name because he first appeared in Spain, and they named him first. But that's all they are – rumours. Until someone chooses to confirm it, we won't know either way."

"Yes, but, still it's good to speculate about it." Mr Langdon smiled indulgently. "So, we were wondering, admiral. How does _La Sombra_ know where to go?"

"What do you mean, sir?" Pellew asked, rather sharply, but the tone was lost on her irrepressible uncle.

"Well, always appearing wherever Englishmen are in trouble. How does he _know_? I've heard tell that he has contacts within the navy – rather high up."

"Anything of that sort is street gossip, sir, for I have had no contact with _La Sombra_ and do not presume that anyone under my command has ever had." Pellew's eyes shone with anger, though his words were courteous and forcefully polite. Realising he had over-stepped the mark, Mr Langdon turned to Mr Hornblower again.

"Mr Hornblower, do tell us about your encounter with _La Sombra_." He pressed. Elizabeth, deciding that she was best absent, stood abruptly. She smiled tightly as the men turned to look at her.

"If you'll excuse me, sirs, the night grows on me, and I think I shall retire." She dipped her head and stalked from the room, her heart pounding, knowing that those dark eyes were watching her every step, watching and calculating.

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Horatio felt disappointed at Elizabeth's early departure, they had barely said two words together. But, as it turned out, Pellew was reluctant to stay too, and they soon took their leave, Pellew managing to trap himself into accepting invitations for both himself and Horatio to a ball at the Langdon estate the next night. As they parted ways at the dock, Pellew looked at Horatio shrewdly.

"You're a prudent man, Mr Hornblower. Don't let anything stop that." Horatio frowned.

"Sir?"

"Elizabeth is a fascinating creature, is she not?" Was the admiral's parting reply as he stepped into the _Indy_'s jolly and nodded to the seamen to row. "Goodnight, Mr Hornblower."


	4. Ballgowns and Dancing

**Four: Ballgowns and Dancing**

The ball was well under way when the three carriages bringing the navy's finest to the Langdon estate. They were taken through to the ballroom at the back of the manor, where wide french doors led out onto a patio looking over the sloping gardens of the wealthy. Most of the fleet's captains, and several lieutenants (including William Bush) had come, as well as the commodore and, of course, the admiral. It was a prestigious affair, but Horatio didn't much care for it. Bush and a few of the lieutenants moved away, and Horatio wished he could join them, but knew he had to keep up appearances. He looked around for a familiar face – Pellew cornered by Mr Langdon and Mr Brocklehurst, and most of the captains making for the wine and the ladies. By the french doors stood a memorable silhouette, and Horatio approached her, beating down his shyness. He bowed low.

"Miss Brocklehurst." He smiled.

"Good evening, Mr Hornblower." She replied, fixing him with a stare that stripped him of all speech. He opened and closed his mouth for a moment, before gathering his muddled thoughts.

"It's a fine event, is it not, Miss Brocklehurst?" He said, clasping his hands behind his back and twisting his body to look at the rest of the room. Elizabeth sipped her wine, hiding her smile before she answered.

"The most reputable men and women are here tonight. It is certainly a _memorable_ event, Mr Hornblower." Her quick tongue was certainly not his imagination, then. She wore a simple, pale dress of powder blue, set off by the silver-and-sapphire pendant about her neck and the silvery threads sewn into the lace in her skirts. She was dazzling.

"Are balls not to your taste then, Miss Brocklehurst?" He enquired lightly after a moment or two. She smirked.

"Please, sir, Elizabeth. And, no, I would say they were not high on my priorities." She quirked an eyebrow at him. "A sailing captain such as yourself, surely would not find these entertaining." Horatio hesitated. He could be polite, and lie, or he could be honest.

"The sea is certainly more predictable." He said, and she laughed softly at that. "But," he said, remembering his admiral's advice, "these events are a welcome change." Elizabeth shrugged lightly, a movement barely noticeable, but elegant in its utterance. "And, please, Mi–Elizabeth. You may call me Horatio. If we are to be on first-name terms, then I will not have you call me 'sir'."

"You are a captain of the navy, sir." Elizabeth replied. "Nothing else would be expected." Her smile was almost cold in its delivering, as she added. "If you'll excuse me, Mr Hornblower." She took her leave, and approached two women, of similar age, further across the room. Horatio berated himself for being so polite. Elizabeth was not one to be so careful with her words.

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He pouted his rosebud-shaped lips and looked at his feet, clearly bemused by her quick exit. Elizabeth watched him subtly from the other side of the room, pitying him and feeling guilty for her coldness. He was, after all, simply being a gentleman. Her friends – Megan and Hope smiled indulgently at one another.

"He's certainly handsome, Lizzie." Hope announced.

"And of great reputation, if the stories are to be believed." Elizabeth glared at her two companions.

"Whatever his looks, and whatever his reputation, he is simply another one of them."

"They are _all_ 'one of them', Lizzie." Megan sighed in exasperation. "You cannot forever put off marriage because they do not share your liberal views."

"I will not idle my life away with someone who I do not love and who does not respect me as his equal!" Elizabeth spluttered, knowing that her friends had already resigned themselves to such a fate, and she too would have to eventually concede to her father that nineteen was the right age to marry. And marry someone of his choice. Elizabeth looked young for her age, but she was mature past her years. She kept many secrets from her friends, who were prone to gossip, and many more from her family. She could not bear the thought of giving up those secrets to a man of convenience and financial benefits. She was no romantic – love was a trick of the mind – but she certainly was no weak damsel in need of man. "And besides all that, I do not know Mr Hornblower, and indeed do not wish to." But her eyes belayed her words, as they always did, and strayed to Mr Hornblower. Horatio Hornblower, captain of the _Hotspur_. He had captured her from the moment she had set eyes on him. Megan and Hope shared a smirk, before wistfully agreeing that perhaps Mr Hornblower was no good match for any of them – he was a man of the sea, and would live at sea, and would die at sea. Elizabeth just muttered her agreement.

As the evening drifted into night, the music was struck up and people began to dance, laughter and high spirits filling the room. Elizabeth loved to dance, and joined in enthusiastically, accepting with most men (causing much gossip amongst the older women and much jealousy amongst the younger, most of who were too proper to have the courage to do the same). Laughing breathlessly, Elizabeth relinquished the lieutenant's hand as the music finished the song. Laughing brown eyes twinkled at her through a lined face. She bobbed a curtsey.

"Thank you, my dear Lieutenant Bush, but I fear I am done!" She panted, her feet aching and sides hurting. Bush chuckled, taking her hand once more as the music began again.

"One more." He announced, moving the familiar steps, eyes daring her. Not one to back down, Elizabeth just laughed and took her place in the dance, feeling herself whirled about by hundreds of hands, her skirts brushing the other ladies' and eyes catching each other. Her partner changed again as the beat took up, and found herself grasped in the safety of Horatio. She was thoroughly surprised, and looked for Bush, who had retreated to a chair on the edge of the floor. She looked back up at Horatio and managed a weak smile.

"I did not mean to offend you." He said quietly, near enough to her ear to be heard above the music, but not too close so as to cause a scandal (as much as Mrs Farthing would wish).

"You did not offend me, sir." She replied quickly, hating the fact that she could be so cruel sometimes.

"Then call me Horatio."

"My breeding requires me to respect you as a –"

"Captain? Of course. But if we are to be friends, then I would wish that you called me by my name." Horatio smiled brightly at her, and she managed a laugh.

"We are mere acquaintances, sir!" She announced, before switching partners as the music slowed a beat. When she resumed her partner once more, she found Bush back in his place, who apologised that he had gone.

"… But you had tired me out, being such an old man; I cannot keep up with youths!"

"You bully me, sir, you are no old man." She giggled. He cocked an eyebrow. "Sir, if you are an old man, you could not hope to keep up with this pace." She noted, as the tune twittered into life again. Bush conceded that he was not as old as he claimed, and proceeded to keep her for two more dances, before she begged to be released to breathe again.

She left through the french doors and wandered close to the patio, looking into the gardens at the fountain. It was a great piece of white marble, with cold, clear water trickling through it. She heard footsteps approaching, and Horatio came and stood next to her in silence.

"My grandfather commissioned it when he came into his wealth." She said eventually, nodding her head to the fountain. She walked towards it, Horatio keeping time with her steps. "It is made from marble, and the basin is real silver. The statuette of the unicorn in the middle is marble too, but the horn is made of pearl and the eyes are real diamonds." She stepped up onto the rim of the fountain above the pool of water, reached out and placed a finger under the faucet that spouted from the mythical creature's mouth. She looked at Horatio. "Is it not beautiful?"

"It is grand." Horatio answered carefully. "Do you not think it beautiful?" Elizabeth laughed, placing one step in front of the other. Horatio mirrored her movements as she walked the edge of the pool, running a finger over the cold marble flanks of the unicorn.

"I think it is a monstrosity." She stepped down and looked up at Horatio. "It is not beautiful, because beauty is not in appearances but in the soul. A statue with no soul cannot have true beauty." She looked back at the fountain. "The wealthy can make a pretence of beautiful things, but money cannot replicate a priceless thing." She smiled mysteriously at him, and Horatio felt a strange sense of recognition. Perhaps it was another similarity to Archie…

"You are quite the philosopher, Elizabeth." He said to dispel his thoughts. Elizabeth shrugged.

"I am quite the politician, quite the lady… quite what everyone wants." She moved away and looked back over her shoulder at him in a frighteningly memorable movement that he couldn't place. "My opinion is no philosophy, Horatio. I express a truth. Do you not believe in the truth?" He hurried to catch up with her.

"I believe in many such things. But, if I am only an acquaintance, why do you express these things to me?" She paused at the patio, in the pale slice of light from the ballroom and shook her head sadly at him.

"And they told me you were so perceptive, Mr Hornblower."


	5. Surprises Abound

**Five: Surprises Abound**

Damn her and her confounded riddles! Horatio cursed Elizabeth silently, and cursed himself for letting him be so enraptured by her. Nearly ten days at sea, and he still couldn't get her out of his mind. Someone approached him.

"Flagship says for captain to go aboard the _Indy_, sir." Came the quiet voice of his first lieutenant.

"Very well, Mr Bush. Prepare a jolly." Horatio muttered, looking over the stern of the ship a last time, licking the salty spray from his lips as Bush roared the orders and Horatio went below to collect his papers and the book. He had read it cover to cover several times, and concluded that _La Sombra_ was a mystery yet to be solved. He hated mysteries and seemed confounded by them. He stepped into the jolly, Bush by his side. He watched the _Hotspur_ shrink behind them as they approached the _Indefatigable_. He boarded to shrill whistles and nods of recognition from several of the crew. Admiral Pellew smiled in welcome, inviting both he and Bush to his cabin. Already there were most of the captains of the fleet, gathered around the desk, peering at a map. Horatio took his place silently as Pellew spoke.

"There are rumours of a massing of Bonaparte's army here and here." He placed his finger on two points of the coast. "The bay here," he shifted his finger, "is ideal for landing but is guarded by two batteries. One is low enough on the cliffs for us to blast it out, but we need the element of surprise. This battery is set up with a signal system that will note our progress before we get within a hundred leagues of the bay." There was silence as Pellew and Horatio shared a look. "We need to take this battery out of action before we can attack the other and take the bay. Once we have the bay, we can take an army across land, here. There's enough woodland to cover us until we reach the encampment. Once the first encampment is taken, we send a signal to the fleet, which moves to this bay, here." He tapped another bay, further south. "We take the second encampment and the fleet picks us up from the bay."

"Sir."

"Yes, Mr Greene."

"How do you propose to get a ship near enough to the battery in the first place?" Pellew paused.

"That is something for the captain to decide, Mr Greene." He twitched a tight smile.

"But sir."

"Mr Hornblower." It sounded as if he had been expecting the young man to speak up. Horatio blushed slightly, but continued.

"Even if we were to take the bay, how many in the encampments?"

"Reports are close on ten thousand." There were mutterings. "But, if we surprise them, as is the intent, we will have no difficulty."

"And the fleet… won't they be spotted in the next bay down?"

"No, Mr Hornblower, they won't." Pellew jabbed a finger at the mark signalling a battery on the cliffs in the second bay. "If you recall, this was the battery you disarmed with the help of _La Sombra_." Horatio paused, realising it was, and finally understanding that _La Sombra_ had disarmed the battery whilst he had escaped… He felt ashamed, but said nothing, just pursed his lips together and nodded tautly.

"I will attack the first battery, sir." He offered, feeling he had to redeem himself. Pellew seemed to hold his breath, his eyes unreadable.

"Mr Hornblower, I rather think that –"

"With all due respect, sir, I believe that I am the only volunteer." Horatio interrupted, feeling his throat constrict at the blatant disrespect of his admiral. But it couldn't be helped. There was a tense silence. The other captains looked apprehensively at the admiral. Pellew nodded tightly.

"Very well, Mr Hornblower. You shall signal your capture of the battery with two blue flares. You shall then bring your men back to the fleet to mount a proper attack on the other battery. Is that understood?"

"Yessir." Horatio bowed, already his mind travelling to plans whilst the other orders were issued around him. On the boat back to the _Hotspur_, Bush said nothing, but simply looked at him questioningly. Horatio sighed and stared at his hands. "When I board the ship, Mr Bush, join me in my cabin and we will look at a suitable landing spot for the _Hotspur_."

"Yessir." Bush looked at the seamen rowing, keeping his thoughts wisely to himself.

They decided on a small cove at the foot of the cliffs along the northern flank of the battery. It was inconspicuous, and they could land up to four boats whilst the sloop staying further out to sea out of sight and out of range of the canons. As dusk fell, brining with it a cloying sea mist, four boats were lowered silently onto the calmed waters. Horatio took the prow in the first, and Bush occupied the second, Midshipman Horak in the third and the trusted Matthews in the fourth. The oars dipped and splashed as they drew between the high walls of the cove, the echo strangely muffled. Four men were left to guard the boats as they were drawn up the sandy beach and the rest of the crew were directed up a narrow path. It looked well-worn, and Horatio hoped that it was a frequented spot for the French, as they would be trapped by the chalky walls of rock and thick shrubs either side of them. As they reached the top of the path, it spread into forest, which seemed to have grown across two slopes that delved into a shallow valley where they emerged. The ground was thick with greenery and the path disappeared from sight. Spreading out, the crew made their way anxiously towards the battery, which loomed low and ominous on the cliff-face. Horatio waved them down, and they crouched low in the undergrowth. The battery was silent. There was no movement to be seen, and he frowned, feeling a sense of foreboding growing in the pit of his stomach.

"Glass." He whispered. Matthews handed it to him, and Horatio aimed it at the building. Nothing. No signs of life. He lowered the glass and looked to Bush, who shrugged.

"We could attack, sir." He suggested. "It would be easy."

"Yes, but it could be a trap." The captain tapped his chin with the barrel of his pistol. "It seems too easy, somehow." Bush used the glass to scan the surrounding area and sighed heavily.

"There are hundreds of place to hide. They could be anywhere." He looked at Horatio helplessly. "If we attack, we could be slaughtered, or we could meet no resistance at all."

"What would you do, William?" The use of his first name indicated the gravity of the situation. Bush thought for a moment. His captain was appealing to him to help – something typically rare from Horatio.

"Me, sir? I couldn't say – it's a cursed predicament." There was more silence – no bird called and no one moved. All were waiting, anticipating something to come, but could not say what. Horatio made to speak again, but was interrupted by a scuffle further down the slope. He readied his pistol and darted down. Styles and Horak were aiming their weapons at five black-clad men. The captain relaxed and smiled as Bush berated Styles in a hissing voice for jeopardising their position. Styles ignored the lieutenant.

"Trying to creep up on us, sir. Shall we kill them?" He announced, glaring at the masked leader. Horatio shook his head.

"As you were Styles. Mr Horak." His men reluctantly lowered their weapons. "_La Sombra_." He bowed low and the movement was mirrored. There were mutterings from the crew nearest to the gathering. "What can I do for you, sir?"

"You are surrounded by French." _La Sombra_ told him shortly. Bush sighed angrily.

"How did they know we were here?" _La Sombra_ shrugged.

"We can get you out – we've killed the guards blocking the path – but it's not an easy option."

"We have to disable the battery…" Horatio tried not to be captivated by _La Sombra_'s arresting eyes. He was bewildered by what it stirred, and wished for no more mysteries. He looked back up the slope. "If we could get past the French, we could lay the charges before they realised we had gone." _La Sombra_ shook his head vigorously.

"No. the path goes back to the beach. My men and I will deal with the battery again." Horatio bristled with indignation. Bush laid a calming hand on his arm.

"Some of us will accompany you." The lieutenant said placatingly. "The rest will return to the fleet and inform the admiral of the plan." _La Sombra_ hesitated.

"Very well, follow us." He turned to the others and issued rapid instructions in French. Horatio and Bush shared a glance as the guerrilla followers melted into the woods silently and untraceably. Horatio gave orders and slowly the crew began to move down the slope towards the beach. Every now and then, Horatio was sure he saw the silhouettes of the other men around them, but when he looked, they were gone.

Only the occasional snap of a twig marked their presence, and the crew of the Hotspur had almost reached the funnel path to the cove when there was a great shout over the brow of the slope to their left. _La Sombra_ started and looked up, and the men all halted. There were two rapid cracks of musket fire, and _La Sombra_ swore under his breath. He turned to Horatio. Another shot exploded, and the bark from a tree burst open near their heads, and all ducked. The guerrilla leader drew his pistol from his belt and added a twisted smile.

"Choose enough men to set the fuses and send the rest away." He instructed. "Bernard!" A man appeared nearby. "_Portez les hommes aux bateaux – voyez qu'ils partent sans risque._" The sooty-faced man nodded and took up the head of the file, waving his hand to the crew. Horatio looked at them, bit his lip, and then hissed:

"Matthews, Styles, here. You too, Mr Horak." He looked to his lieutenant. "Coming, Mr Bush?"

"Try to stop me!" Bush grinned. _La Sombra_ nodded quickly.

"Good. Wait here for my signal." Before Horatio could answer, the man darted up the slope and disappeared from sight. More gunshots ricocheted the air, and the five waiting crouched lower to the ground, hoping that the crossfire would not reach them. Silence rang in the dusk, and a masked head peeped over the brow of the hill. A hand joined it and beckoned to them before pressing a finger to his lips. They ran low to the ground, gripping their pistols, and then hunched down next to _La Sombra_. "There are no more French along this flank, but there are six more on the other hill. Four guards are at the battery, and perhaps there are more inside." He looked at the captain seriously. "Can you do it?"

"Just get me in there, and my men will do the rest." Horatio answered, sounding more confident than he felt. _La Sombra_ nodded, and pointed ahead.

"My men and I will cover you. Head that way and wait in the thorn bush for two whistles. Once you hear it, go in through the door and go to the end of the corridor, where it splits into two. Ahead of you will be two doors. The left door is where they keep their powder. Set your fuses and get out. I will wait no more than two minutes before I go – I cannot risk getting trapped, you understand." Horatio nodded.

"Don't worry, we'll be out in time." _La Sombra_ grinned widely, flashing a set of white teeth.

"I have no doubt. Good luck, sir."

"And to you, sir." They shook hands, the guerrilla having a strong grip for such petite hands. Horatio nodded to the others, and they traversed the pitted undergrowth through the trees. Bush tapped him on the shoulder and pointed as they ran. A man, his face painted black, lay at the foot of a tree, eyes closed and hands crossed on his chest. His black shirt had a wet patch by his heart. He was dead. It must have been the shouts and fighting. They found the thorn bush and settled themselves behind it, in sight of the door to the battery.

There was silence, Horatio staring intently at the door. He could see two guards, and he saw two more stationed further along the walls. He tutted, sucking in his breath sharply, willing _La Sombra _to hurry. He needn't have worried as two shadows appeared at either end of the wall, sliding along it silently. Two matching blades glinted, raised, slicing through the necks of the outer guards with no sign of a struggle. The two guards by the door didn't flinch, not noticing the silent fall of their comrades. The shadows moved nearer, and Horatio recognised one as _La Sombra_ before the blades were raised again. The movement alerted one of the guards, whose yelp of surprise was cut off by a cut to his neck. The bodies fell to the earth with an audible thud, but no whistle came. Horatio frowned.

"Come on!" He breathed. _La Sombra_ used his pistol to check the other side of the door was bereft of French, and then nodded to his companion, who slipped through the door. "What are they doing?" He exclaimed in a low voice.

"We shouldn't trust –" Bush began, but was stopped by two short whistles in quick succession. _La Sombra_ was waving them across. The men darted over, but before Horatio could question the guerrilla, he was gone, melting away into the undergrowth. The five men entered the battery and quickly found their way to the powder room. They looked on the stacks of barrels in brief awe.

"Shall we set the fuses to these, sir?" Matthews asked carefully. Horatio hesitated.

"No. Take powder each, not a lot, enough to spite the canons, and set them by each canon. We can't risk a huge explosion, else we be seen by the other battery." Matthews nodded and he, Horak and Styles picked up bags of powder, disappearing out the door and heading for the canons. Bush twitched an eyebrow.

"We only have two minutes, sir –"

"I know, Mr Bush. We'll be all right." He smiled, picking up his own bag. "It would be quicker if we helped, though." They ran and started to set the bags to spite the canons, watching Matthews lay the fuses and begin to light them. The first explosion came when they were running back down the corridor. They left the door and ran for cover as the last two canons blew. Horatio checked his pocket watch as they hunched behind the thorn bush again. "Nearly three minutes." He sighed angrily. Suddenly, two hisses announced the release of two blues flares – flying up in a straight line and exploding. The two flares, though, crossed in mid-flight, the black wreaths of smoke billowing in an X shape. Horatio frowned at that, but continued: "We were too long. He won't have waited."

"Oh no?" Bush nodded over his shoulder and Horatio turned to see _La Sombra_ approaching.

"But –" Horatio stood, protesting.

"Perhaps my watch is slow, sir. And I had to leave my mark." The flares… His mysterious smile that accompanied his answer was familiar. Horatio did nothing but smile in reply, allowing _La Sombra_ to indicate their return route to the cove. "My men have dealt with the other French – there are no more of the enemy this side of the bay. There is a boat waiting for you in the cove, may you have a safe journey." He bowed as they reached the path. Horatio returned the gesture. There was a pause, and the guerrilla leader made to leave.

"Just… some questions, sir." The captain said. _La Sombra_ seemed to grimace beneath his mask before his shook his head with fervour, waving his hands to ward away the questions.

"I answer no questions sir."

"Who was the man we saw dead?" Horatio pressed. _La Sombra_ froze, looking stricken.

"A friend, now, please, your boat is waiting."

"And why did you let one of your men into the battery?"

"He had some business of his own to attend to." After he realised that this reply was not enough, he added: "The commander of the battery had disgraced him and his family." He turned away and began to walk up the slope again.

"Will you be at the battle with Bonaparte's armies?" Horatio called and _La Sombra _laughed.

"Perhaps, if you are in need!"

"And, sir! Are you French?" To this there was no reply, and Horatio shook his head in defeat, following the others down to the bay where one of the boats from the _Hotspur_ sat in the sand, waiting for them to send them back to the fleet to give a report. There had certainly been surprises abound – for both the French and the English.


	6. Attack

**Six: Attack**

"FIRE!" Roared Bush, Horak and Horatio in unison. There was a juddering explosion of canons, the recoil rocking the sloop as they heard echoing shots from the other ships of the fleet. Shrapnel flew in hundreds of directions from the battery, which was blown nearly to non-existence by the English. "Reload." Came the order, and the men manning the canons rushed to obey. But, for the first time since the ships had entered the bay, there were no return shots. The battery was silent, the breeze tugging at the French flag forlornly. Several flags ran up the flagship, and Bush placed a glass to his eye, repeating the order it gave.

"Sir, flagship says to hold fire until further notice." Horatio nodded and shouted:

"Hold fire!" The words were repeated down the length of the sloop, and everyone stopped in their actions. A powder-monkey waited patiently by Horak's side to hand the shot-powder to the gunners. There was a ringing silence across the bay, and the ships waiting, hanging in the sea. The flagship ran out a new order.

"Cease fire and proceed to disembark, sir." Bush told his captain.

"Very good, Mr Bush. Call the hands to ready for landing."

"Yessir." Bush dipped his head in acknowledgement and roared the instruction. Movement rippled over the _Hotspur_ and the boats were readied whilst they weighed anchor. Horatio returned briefly to his cabin. He had pistol and shot, sword, dagger and glass. There was nothing else for it; he had to return to shore, after only half a night aboard his ship. Once the arrival of Horatio had been conveyed to Pellew, the admiral had instantly ordered his presence to give a report. The older man seemed slightly amused but unsurprised at Horatio's announcement of _La Sombra_'s appearance, and agreed that it was probable they would see him on the battlefield. They had talked long into the night about battle plans and the mystery of their guerrilla helper. Horatio explained as best he could the remarkable familiarity of _La Sombra_, and Pellew simply decided that it was Horatio's imagination. Horatio had returned to the _Hotspur_ well gone the dawn and had slumped in his cabin to snatch no more than a few hours rest before he had been summoned to help attack the second battery and ready for the battle.

The captain yawned widely as he waited for the jolly to be under way, and received smirks from many of the crew. He beat them down with a hard glare. Soon the oars pushed through the water, taking them to the landing beach. Looking around, Horatio saw nearly forty other boats doing the same – loaded with crew and military. He spotted Pellew, admiral's uniform glinting in the morning light, cutting an awing sight at the prow of his boat. Horatio smiled to himself, and looked ahead, already going through the plans in his mind. After landing, they would take their formations and march South through the woodland across the cliffs to the first encampment, where they would surround it on all sides (Horatio worried at this, those between the first and second encampments could easily be trapped) so as to make sure no word would get out of their attack. The signal to attack was a blue flag, and signal to retreat a red flag. They would then fire on the camp and march their way to the centre, forming a tight ring of people. It sounded good, but too easy. Horatio knew it would not be so. They landed on the beach and dragged the boats up to the tidemark before standing in their formations. Horatio faced his crew, watching Pellew out of the corner of his eye.

"For'ard MARCH!" Pellew bellowed, and as one, the men stepped forward, tramping thousands of footprints in the soft sands. Horatio took a deep breath and fell in line beside Pellew, who shot him a comforting look. "Let us hope your friend _La Sombra_ has no need to appear." He muttered good-naturedly.

"Let us hope, sir." Horatio replied, having a good feeling that the hope was already lost.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"Good God." Bush muttered under his breath as they peered through the trees at the revolutionary camp. There were thousands of men, a cavalry, canons, hundreds of tents and all manner of weaponry. Horatio glared at him.

"Hush, Mr Bush. We don't want the men hearing us afraid." He reprimanded, and his lieutenant looked suitably chastened. The captain held a glass to his eye to search for the telltale red or blue flag. All he saw were the occasional green flag appear, to announce that each regiment was in place and ready for action. "There!" He hissed suddenly, spying the blue flag appear and swish subtly.

"Wait." Came Bush's reply. "Look." Horatio angled the glass to where he was pointing and frowned.

"What is God's name..?" There was the red flag, waving hurriedly. "What's going on?" He lowered his glass and rose from his kneeling position carefully. "I'm going to find the admiral." He told Bush. "Stay here, and act on whatever flag shows first next, even if I have no returned." Bush nodded, and Horatio darted away through the undergrowth, head bowed.

Pellew looked as baffled as Horatio when the captain finally found him. They bowed to one another, and Pellew spoke first.

"Can you tell me what's happening?"

"No sir, I was rather hoping…" Horatio trailed away, suddenly lost in thought. "Wait. Sir, where was the red flag ordered to be placed?"

"Well, the gentleman with the blue flag was meant to have it, but it seems that someone else has hold of the confounded thing." Horatio chuckled.

"Sir. I think I have just solved it. I'm sure you would like to meet the protagonist of this situation." He bowed, extending a hand to indicate Pellew should go first. Thoroughly bewildered, the admiral obliged, and the two crept around the outskirts of the French camp until they reached a small copse of trees, thicker than the surrounding trunks and rowing closer together. Leaning on one of these trees, arms folded and one leg jauntily pressed against the trunk, was _La Sombra_, one of his men holding the red flag limp. "Sir," Horatio bowed and the guerrilla nodded, "meeting again so soon. I had rather hoped in different circumstances." He couldn't escape the smirk that flitted across the man's face before he inclined his head. Pellew looked positively irritated and pompous.

"What is the meaning of this sir? You could have jeopardised the whole attack! Who are you?" He demanded.

"Admiral Pellew, sir, I would like you to meet _La Sombra_." Horatio introduced, feeling pleased to see the admiral utterly confused and then astonished. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, bereft of anything to say. _La Sombra_ pushed himself away from the tree and bowed low, nearly tipping his wide hat from his head in the process.

"An honour, sir, to finally meet your esteemed self." Pellew, who seemed to have taken leave of his senses at this moment, continued to splutter before puffing:

"Thank you, sir, and the honour is returned, I am sure." Horatio smirked behind his hand.

"I am sorry to disrupt your plan so much, but I had to intervene, you understand." Pellew nodded slowly.

"Of course. I see." He obviously didn't see.

"The French do not yet know of your presence, but I fear that this plan will not work without the help of a few…" At this, he paused. "_Locals_." The word was laden heavy with meaning. Horatio felt as perplexed as Pellew. "You see the tent over there, with the flag?" The masked man pointed through the trees and their eyes followed his finger before the admiral nodded. "It covers an underground passage to the manor house beyond the thicket there. The nobility built it in the early days of the uprising by means to escape should it ever come to such an outcome. Of course, it was over before they could… but I digress… the revolutionaries will use that passage to get word to the other encampment. Your surprise will be lost. And the other camp, sirs, is by far the biggest. It would not bode well for your campaign." _La Sombra_ shrugged. "So, you see, I had no choice but to halt the charge."

"How do you know this?" Pellew enquired curiously.

"I have my ways to know everything, sir. That is not the question you should be asking." His impertinence was overlooked as Pellew moved on to the more important task.

"And how do you propose to help us?"

"As I said, I have a few locals to assist me. We can block the passage, but I am afraid there are not enough of us to complete the second part of the plan."

"Second part?" Horatio was astounded that the man was so confident of his success that he should have _two_ parts to his plan. _La Sombra_ nodded.

"I noticed you have no heavy artillery. Muskets and cutlasses would be no match." Again he pointed, and they noticed the cluster of canons set near the tent covering the underground passage. "They are permanently loaded with shot and highly flexible – they can be turned by a single man and their recoil is very small. As soon as the first wave of your men is in sight, the French can launch those canons in seconds. My second plan was to take control of the canons, turn it on the French." He smiled broadly. "But, you see, I have limited numbers and this is a job for more than I can offer."

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Horatio believed it complete madness, but he had seen _La Sombra_ in action and knew the man had no fear. His daring was unmatched, and his men loved him, and that was good enough for the captain. He had selected the same men he had at the battery to assist in capturing the canons and passage. But as they returned to the copse, Horatio saw _La Sombra_ facing a Frenchman in revolutionary colours. Styles swore loudly and cocked his pistol. At the sound, _La Sombra_ and the revolutionary turned and saw them. Horatio grabbed Styles' pistol before it could be fired.

"No!" He hissed. Slowly he approached the pair, and _La Sombra_ visibly relaxed and smiled in greeting.

"Sir, meet my local friend." The revolutionary bowed nervously, before turning to the guerrilla.

"_Vous ne m'avez jamais dit au sujet d'aucun Anglais! C'est trop dangereux, si je suis découvert –_"

"_Vous pas. J'ai promis votre sûreté. S'il vous plait, vous ne pouvez pas casser notre affaire._" The revolutionary looked positively pale, but nodded slowly.

"_Oui, monsieur._" He looked back to Horatio and gave a quick bow again, his knuckles white on the hilt of his sword. "You 'ave my wurd, _monsieur_, zat I will not fail." The English was heavily accented, and Horatio somehow doubted the words, but smiled anyway. After another short exchange with _La Sombra_, the revolutionary returned to the camp.

The masked man had scratched the plan into the dirt, and now they were ready to move to their positions at the signal. Suddenly, the revolutionary appeared again, standing a good distance away from the trees and not looking in their direction. He gave a quick nod, and _La Sombra_ breathed an instruction to his followers. Horatio counted six – two more than usual. This was a very serious operation. The black-clad men ran low, swords and pistols ready to hand. They spread at various points, and _La Sombra_ himself disappeared into the target tent. There were faint groans and thuds before his head appeared again and nodded to the nearest follower, who sent the message along to the others. Three then went and surrounded the tent, still crouching to the ground. The other three moved to cover the crew's progress. A short, sharp whistle was Horatio's signal to move. He nodded to his men, and they flitted across to the tent and the canons.

"Ready the canon, Matthews." He hissed, using the said weapons as cover from suspicious eyes. Matthews obeyed whilst the Styles, Horak, Bush and Horatio untied the other canons from their anchorage and moved them into position. "All set, sir." Horatio told _La Sombra_, who nodded and sent his men scurrying back to cover the progress back to the copse. Slowly and creakily, the canons were wheeled towards the copse. Once the last canon was out of sight and all _La Sombra_'s men and the crew were hidden, the guerrilla leader whistled again. The revolutionary from before slowly approached the canon Matthews had readied, and lit the fuse with his pistol hammer before running as fast as he could from the scene. There was a hiss as the fuse touched the powder and an almighty explosion. The canon blew apart the tent and caused the tunnel it hid to cave in at the mouth. "FIRE!" Horatio roared, and the other canons simultaneously expended their shot into the came, tearing apart tents and men alike. "Now run!" He shouted, and his men and _La Sombra_'s men ran like jack-rabbits away from the canons, for Matthews had loaded them so as to automatically spite them once their shot was spent. Explosions shook the ground and there were more French screams from those who had rushed in that direction to catch them. Several trees caught fire, and in a few minutes collapsed in a rush of flames and burnt wood onto the camp. The shouts from the revolutionaries grew and died away several times before some sort of semi-silence fell on them. By then, Horatio had been led by _La Sombra_ to the next cluster of canons. Again, the revolutionary appeared to nod, and _La Sombra_ covered the crew's progress. Again, Matthews set the canons to explode after shot. And again, they fired on the bewildered encampment before running as fast as they could to the final point. This time, silence didn't fall on the French, terrified shouts and screams echoed across the tents and there was the thunder of feet. The revolutionary appeared, his face drawn and pallid. With a visible swallow, his gave a quick nod. As _La Sombra_ began to make his way across to the canons, the revolutionary blanched and shouted:

"_Non! Non! Courir!_" His frantic hands were stilled by the crack of a musket. _La Sombra_ froze mid-step, staring at the fallen revolutionary in horror.

"_Ici! Le voici!_" Was the excited shout. More revolutionaries flooded forward, and Horatio realised they must have figured out their plan. Swearing, he turned to his men.

"Help him. Now!" He started to run, shouting at the top of his lungs. He heard his crew behind him and felt comforted as the bang of pistol shots met those of the French muskets. He found himself shoulder to shoulder with _La Sombra_ as the French charged at them, blades drawn. As he pulled his sword from another body, he heard Matthews shout.

"Sir!" He turned to see a canon pointed his way, fuse dipping spark towards the powder. Grabbing _La Sombra_'s arm, they dived flat to the ground as the shot shrieked overhead. Standing, Horatio grinned his thanks at the wiry-haired man. He reached down and helped _La Sombra_ to his feet.

"Now. Shall we fire the other guns, sir?" He asked of the leader. In the lull before more revolutionaries came on them, _La Sombra_ paused, staring at the dead revolutionary with misery.

"He was my friend. I had promised him freedom from this." He said quietly. Horatio felt a pang of pity.

"He has found freedom." He laid a conciliatory hand on his shoulder. "Let us finish the fight for him." _La Sombra_ nodded, picking up his pistol from where it had fallen. Horatio, taking this as a prompt, issued orders for the canons to be wheeled to the trees and fired, same as the others.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The battle was nearly over. Silence had begun to descend on the ruined encampment, and the dead were being counted. Four from the _Hotspur_. Horatio's crew had been lucky, as had Pellew's. The worst death count came from captain Lewin's crew – forty-five from a ship of two hundred. Horatio stepped around the scattered bodies and found _La Sombra_, laying the body of one of his men alongside the revolutionary. He had lost two of his men, and the three lay in a row, eyes closed and hands crossed on their breasts. Horatio saw tears shining in the leader's eyes, and looked bashfully away, feeling guilty for witnessing another man's grief. But, unable to stop himself, he looked back again, watching the man kneel by his fallen comrades, hands gripping his knees tightly.

"Battle is such an evil thing." _La Sombra_ said quietly, acknowledging the captain's presence and surprising him. "It takes what is should not and gives what is least wanted." He looked up, unashamed of his tears. Horatio blushed. "It takes life and gives misery." He looked back down at the dead.

"They followed you because they loved you, sir, and you should love them with the same dedication, so that their memories should never be erased."

"I love them." _La Sombra_ replied fervently.

"And that is all they ever wanted." Horatio turned awkwardly and left, feeling like an interloper on a private event.

A few moments later, Horatio once more came across the leader, using a bag of powder to lay a cross shape in a patch of cleared earth – each line roughly four feet in length. _La Sombra_ looked up and smiled.

"So they will know who came." He lit a corner of the powder, and it fizzled along the lines, splitting in two at the crossover and scorching an X into the ground. Then, brushing powder from his hands, _La Sombra_ straightened and looked at Horatio. "I will come with you to the second encampment. You need the help." There was a glint of amusement in his eye, and Horatio laughed.

"Lord knows I would be glad of the company."


	7. Secret Tales

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of it.

Note on this chapter: I skipped the ret of the battle - there's only so much you can write! Just for you to know, it all went well:-) And also, gets a little steamier. Only a smidgen though.

**Enjoy**

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* * *

****Seven: Secret Tales**

How had he got here again? Horatio felt furious with himself. He had accepted a party invitation to the Langdon residence, along with Bush, Pellew, Bracegirdle, Greene and Lewin. He regretted it dearly. Mr Langdon and Mr Brocklehurst were no company to enjoy – one too frivolous and one too serious. He sipped at his wine, glancing around the room to settle his eyes on Elizabeth. He had forgotten how exquisite she was. She wore a pale green dress this time, and her hair in thick ringlets. Damn her! He cursed as she laughed at a joke her friends had told. Damn the spell she had on him. He forced himself to listen to the drab conversation going on around him, and it wasn't until most of the guests had gone and those remaining were lounging in the drawing room until he could speak to her. They were talking of the attack on the French encampments – a great success – and Elizabeth's eyes seemed to flit anxiously around the room.

"You do not like war stories, Miss Brocklehurst?" He enquired, pausing all discourse. There was a hesitation before she answered with a bright but false smile.

"Quite the contrary, Mr Hornblower, I rather enjoy them."

"Ah, then you would be fascinated to hear of Mr Hornblower's exploits!" Pellew chuckled and there were titters around the room. Horatio coloured uncomfortably. Elizabeth's eyes were slightly cold as she replied:

"Riveted." This caused him to blush all the more.

"Come, come, Horatio. A woman giving you attentions and you colour like a beetroot." Mr Langdon laughed.

"Perhaps, uncle, it is not the attentions of a lady, but the attentions of men on his adventures. Perhaps Mr Hornblower is none too fond of telling his tales." Whilst saying this, Elizabeth had looked at Mr Langdon, and Horatio had been glad of both her intervention and sudden change in eye contact, but now she looked back to him. "Many of us have secret tales."

"Many, Lizzie. But, of course, ladies are too discreet to have such adventures." Mr Brocklehurst said repressively, staring hard at his daughter. She ignored the warning.

"Oh, quite the opposite, father, I am sure. We are too discreet to _tell_ such adventures. But I am simply observing that perhaps Mr Hornblower prefers to keep his infamous exploits to himself, rather hearing them told from other mouths." Horatio wished he were back in battle – things were so much simpler there, there were no subliminal messages, no teasing. He frowned into his brandy glass.

"Not one to blow your own trumpet, eh, Hornblower?" Mr Langdon jibed. Pellew muttered something about Horatio's honour and discretion, and the subject was dropped. The captain wished he hadn't spoken to Elizabeth and gotten involved in the conversation. But it couldn't be helped… and it also told him a little more of her ambiguity. He looked at her, and found her to match his gaze unashamedly. She twitched a smile at him, and he shyly returned it. Her eyes darted to the doorway questioningly. He frowned, then it cleared, and he gave a short nod. He rose.

"If you'll excuse me, gentlemen." He left the room, waiting outside the door as he listened for Elizabeth excusing herself too. She claimed fatigue, and soon appeared, grabbing his hand without saying a word and practically dragging him into the garden. She released his hand once they had stepped out of the light of the house and she smiled at him timidly. He was surprised at her sudden shyness.

"At least here we shall have some privacy." She said, following the footpath to the fountain, whose water tinkled merrily in the night air. He agreed, though wondered why privacy was so important. If they were found, there would be a terrible scandal. "I wanted to apologise. Not only for making you uncomfortable just then, but for before, at the ball. I was rude and childish." He opened his mouth to protest, but she shushed him. "No, let me speak. I spoke in riddles and that was unfair to presume you would know what I meant." She looked directly at him. "I am not very good with direct honesty –"

"I should think you are!" Horatio insisted.

"Oh, Mr Hornblower, you would like to _think_ so, and indeed I am very liberal in my views, but I am a lady." They had been walking for some time now and there weren't even lanterns to illuminate her face, which now seemed almost pale in the moonlight. "And a lady of high-breeding at that, and for my position I must often hold my tongue. I believed I could be freer to speak with you at the ball because you are a man of the world." They stopped and she looked at him earnestly, her blue eyes ablaze even in the shadows. "I had hoped that you would not disapprove, but I behaved inappropriately and I need to apologise." She laughed shortly. "I am afraid it is a rather lengthy apology, but I really am. I'm sorry." He chuckled a little, and she looked a little put out.

"Oh, I'm not mocking you." He quickly confirmed. "I am just flattered and a little confused at this. For, if I know you from my previous visits, you are not one to apologise so rashly. Rather, I believe you to be a little stubborn and would insist on receiving an apology." Elizabeth blushed. "I don't disapprove of you at all. In fact, I find you rather refreshing. If refreshing is the right word. I admit I'm typically more eloquent than this, but you make me all of a dither, and nothing ever seems to be right." He frowned, knowing he made little sense. "If I can put it bluntly, I enjoy your forthrightness and am a little disappointed at your haste to retract it. I may not be a liberal man that would suit you – I understand that I am sometimes _too_ gentlemanly – but I still find that…" At this he trailed away. Dare he be honest, and tell her how she made him feel? Three encounters was hardly enough to found anything.

"Horatio." He was startled at the use of his first name, whispered so tentatively. "Perhaps I am a little too forthright now, but… would a gentleman object if… if…" She blushed. "A lady expressed her wish to have him… tell her…" She seemed to lose the ability to speak and stared at her feet, furious at herself for feeling like she was sixteen again. She was mature woman! She scolded herself, now act like one and speak what you want to say. Before she had summoned enough courage to finish her sentence, she felt a finger hook under her chin gently. Horatio tilted her head so that she looked at him again, and the breath caught in her throat. The moonlight glanced off his face, creating shadows at the corner of his nose and over one beautiful eye. She could see those eyes now, bright and intense, looking at her in a way she'd never seen before. It was so direct and so brazen that she felt a little intimidated but also a little excited by it.

"Tell her how he truly felt?" He whispered, finishing her sentence for her. She swallowed.

"Yes." Her voice was so hoarse, she was sure he didn't hear it. His eyes flicked down to her lips, and Elizabeth felt a jolt of adrenaline run up her spine and through her stomach. Her lids fell heavy on her cheeks as she closed her eyes, parting her lips and reaching upwards. Horatio bent his head slowly; not daring to shut his eyes as their mouths slowly collided is the most tentative of kisses. Her lips tasted of wine, and he could smell jasmine in her hair. He shut his eyes as he pressed deeper, her mouth shyly opening as he rolled his tongue over her lower lip, giving him entrance. Horatio felt her breath light and quick on his cheek, and her hands leaning themselves around his waist. His hands held onto her face as he lost himself in the sensation of her. The warmth of her body and movement of her skirts as she stepped closer, the tightening over her fingers on his waist as her tongue met his and he emitted small groan of pleasure, the smell of her hair and her skin, and the sweet taste of her mouth, that reached for his so innocently and eagerly. His heart pounded heavily on his ribcage, and his brain took leave of his senses, so addled by Elizabeth.

She had never been kissed before. Not like this. She could taste wine and brandy and sea salt. He smelt of soap and wood and ocean. His clothes were rough under her hands, and she could feel the calluses on his palms where he held her cheeks. Elizabeth followed his lead, delighting in the moan of desire she caused as her tongue met his. Oh, had she dreamt of this from the moment she had set eyes on Horatio Hornblower? To her befuddled mind, she couldn't remember, nor couldn't care. What mattered was the bliss she felt at that moment. It was obvious reluctance that Horatio pulled away, and Elizabeth frowned, a small moan voicing her disappointment. When she eventually managed to command her eyes open, she met a pair of mirthful, longing eyes close to hers.

"I –" He hushed her gently, placing a brief, tempting kiss on her lips. She sighed forlornly, leaning and resting her cheek on his chest. She felt him settle his chin gently on the crown of her head, and slide his hands down her back to rest on her waist. She could hear the hollow beating of his heart, and wondered at the speed of it. Had she caused it to pound so quickly? She didn't know how long they stood there, but son she felt him move and looked up. He kissed her softly.

"Come on. They'll wonder where I have gone." Of course. She had forgotten about her family and the guests. Harrumphing with discontent, she allowed him to take her back up the garden, past the fountain and into the hallway. Here though they had to part ways. After a subversive glance around, Horatio landed a chaste kiss on her lips and murmured: "Goodnight, Elizabeth."

"Goodnight Horatio." She watched him re-enter the drawing room and listened to the exclamations from inside before she trod upstairs, feeling deflated that she couldn't spend the whole night with him. At that thought, Elizabeth blushed. A whole night with a man! Well! That was certainly a tale to be kept secret from her friends, if it were ever to occur. Certainly before marriage… but then, Elizabeth concluded, she had so many secret tales, one more would be no burden… She forced herself away from such scandalous thoughts before they could interfere with her integrity. Something that Horatio Hornblower seemed to threaten – though she rather relished it.


	8. Victoria Taylor

**Eight: Victoria Taylor**

Whatever excuse Horatio tried to find, it was stopped by some event or other interfering and preventing him seeing Elizabeth. It was nearly a week before Pellew took the hinting and allowed him to accompany him on a visit to the Brocklehurst residence. Mr Brocklehurst, it seemed, was very influential in the navy, and admiral Pellew had several things he needed to discuss, and decided it would do Horatio good to listen to business. At the rate Horatio was traversing the ranks, the admiral wouldn't be surprised to see him very high up indeed within the next few years.

The house was redbrick house nearer to Portsmouth city than the Langdon's, and certainly more humble. It didn't surprise Horatio – Mr Brocklehurst wasn't one for grandeur. They were shown through to a drawing room decorated with dark, velvety green hangings and furniture made of dark polished oak. It was elegant and simple, not at all like Mr Langdon's preference. Taking a seat, Horatio looked at the portrait above the large fireplace. It was a family picture – father, mother, two sons and, of course, Elizabeth, with a rather sweet-looking black, tan and white Jack Russell terrier on her lap. There was a rather large Great Dane at their feet, its blue-grey coat shining and head languishing against one of the son's legs. Mr Brocklehurst was in his finest suit, standing ramrod straight, and one hand on the back of a red-upholstered chair where Emma Brocklehurst sat primly. Her hair was elaborately pinned and she wore a white dress that looked remarkably like a wedding dress. Standing on the other side of the chair, nearly as tall as his father, was one of the boys. He wore a naval uniform – midshipman – and his coppery-brown hair tied neatly. In front of him to one side stood the other son, in proper suit, nearly identical to his pious-looking mother. In front of him lay the Great Dane, and to one side of the painting sat Elizabeth. The only golden-haired child – or one of the family – she was the most striking in a pale lavender dress. The Jack Russell sat in her lap, looking up at her, though she looked straight out the painting. Unlike all her straight-lipped family, her mouth curved into the tiniest of smiles, almost as if she harboured an amusing secret. Her hands cradled in her lap, she looked the most relaxed, and it brought a smile to Horatio's lips. Her eyes were enthralling, even in a painting, and it gave him a shiver to recognise them again. They were eerily familiar and he couldn't place from where. Pellew noticed the captain's appraisal and swallowed a smile as the drawing room door opened and the family came in.

Horatio shot to his feet, bowing respectfully. Mr Brocklehurst returned the bow and greeted Pellew warmly. Horatio kissed Emma Brocklehurst's hand politely. He then turned to Elizabeth, whose eyes twinkled mischievously as he took her gloved hand and kissed the silk knuckle delicately. His lips lingered a second longer than they should have, and his eyes never left hers.

"Good day, Miss Brocklehurst." He said quietly.

"Good day, Mr Hornblower." When Horatio finally did look away, he was surprised to see another man nearby. Instantly recognising him from the painting, the captain presumed this must be one of Elizabeth's brothers – the one not in the navy.

"I don't believe we've met." Came the curt announcement from the man. "Jonathon Brocklehurst."

"Captain Horatio Hornblower." Horatio shook the proffered hand. Jonathon must have been older than Elizabeth by at least four years, and was a serious as his father. He wasn't particularly portly, but he took after his mother, including the long dark lashes around his pale blue eyes.

"Ah, yes. Your name is quite… infamous." He was exactly like his father in personality, and Horatio forced himself not to laugh when he saw Elizabeth's smirk from the corner of his eye.

"It is, sir. Though I wouldn't believe everything you hear."

"Really?" Jonathon twitched an eyebrow. "Shame. I was quite impressed by your… adventures." It was a lie, but Horatio dared not continue the conversation. Instead, he turned to Elizabeth. She looked gleeful that Horatio had so blatantly disregarded her pompous older brother. Emma Brocklehurst took her leave, but Elizabeth lingered.

"I was admiring the portrait, Miss Brocklehurst. Tell me, who is the painter?" Elizabeth smiled indulgently.

"A good friend of father's. I'm afraid he paints little, though we would commission no other for such a piece. He did it four years ago. The dogs are both dead of course – and I dearly did love little Digby." Horatio nodded, noticing the maturity in the real Elizabeth that lacked in the painted Elizabeth. "You enjoy art, Mr Hornblower?" There was meaning to her words, and he ached to accept the challenge. He glanced to Pellew. He wouldn't notice if he excused himself for a few minutes…

"I do."

"Then perhaps you would enjoy looking at some of the other pieces in the house? We have quite a collection." Horatio gave a quick bow.

"I would be delighted." They excused themselves and walked calmly from the room. But when they were in the hallway, they noticed too many servants. Sighing imperceptibly to anyone but Horatio, Elizabeth began to show him some of the artwork, and indeed, it was a marvel to see.

In several paintings, the brother in naval uniform appeared at various ages, and, unable to hide his curiosity, Horatio asked:

"Who is he?" Elizabeth blushed and looked away.

"He was my older brother." She looked defiantly at him. "He died two years ago – killed in battle."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. We've grieved too long for Henry." She answered brusquely, watching the servant polishing the silver candlestick at the other end of the room. They had gone to several rooms, all occupied, including at one stage by Emma Brocklehurst. The pretence was inwardly killing Horatio, he just wanted to snatch her up and kiss her for all the world to see. "If we go into the dining room, I can show you the landscape of our country home…" Elizabeth gathered herself mentally and led him through yet another door. For such a humble-looking house, it was remarkably like a maze inside, with far more rooms than needed. At the door, Elizabeth hesitated as she stepped through, and he soon saw why. The room was empty. At last… He walked past her and turned to watch her calmly close the door. When she turned to him, she nearly knocked him over as she flew into him, kissing him furiously. He returned the kisses with equal passion, revelling in the sweetness of her. He stumbled backwards, knocking the back of his legs into the mahogany dining table that stretched the length of the room. He heard the tinkle of silverware touching, but didn't care if it was too loud. They pulled away breathlessly, Elizabeth's eyes shining and her cheeks flushed. "I couldn't help myself." She admitted sheepishly.

"I'm glad of it, else I would have had to kiss you, even if it was in front of your mother!" Horatio exclaimed, receiving a reproachful look. He grinned wickedly.

"You wouldn't have dared."

"Oh no?" He leant in again, grasping her waist and pulling her tight into his embrace as he kissed her. Moving away from her mouth, he placed tiny butterfly kisses along her jaw and cheeks to her ear. He heard her breath coming out in quick pants, and flicked his tongue out, kissing her lobe.

"Horatio!" She gasped. She had placed her hands on his arms, and he felt her fingers dig into his clothes. She relinquished her grip and used one hand to move his mouth back to hers. When they eventually parted again, she laughed airily. "You make me feel so…"

"Immoral? Disreputable? Reprehensible?" He supplied, she slapped his arm, tutting.

"Mr Hornblower! And you claim to be a gentleman." He rolled his eyes and she laughed as he quipped:

"Now you sound like all the other prim, upper-class ladies." Knowing they had to return, they kissed again, and Elizabeth took him back to the drawing room. Horatio was sure they hadn't even noticed that he had gone. Elizabeth made to leave, but two things happened at once. Pellew, Mr Brocklehurst and Jonathon all rose to bid their goodbyes, and a butler entered, holding a sealed letter and looking very grave. Everyone stopped their farewells as the butler approached Elizabeth and handed it to her. Frowning at the scrawled letters on the front, she turned it over and broke the red seal (Horatio wondered why it still seemed a little wet). Still frowning, she read the letter, her face etched with horror as she finished it.

"Oh my!"

"What is it?" Mr Brocklehurst asked sharply as Elizabeth's hand flew to her mouth.

"It's Victoria Taylor, father. She's fallen ill and asks I come to visit as she's terribly unwell and bedridden." Mr Brocklehurst tutted.

"I know I should not slander a friend, Lizzie, but Victoria Taylor has been asking you to visit rather a lot recently. And for long periods, dare I say."

"I know father, but she really is quite poorly." Elizabeth looked at her father, begging him with wide eyes.

"Very well. I'll get Samuel to get the coach ready."

"Thank you father." She kissed him lightly on the cheek, shot an unreadable look to Horatio and darted from the room. Pellew looked curiously at Mr Brocklehurst, who simply shook his head.

"Some pen-friend or other Lizzie visits often near London. I believe she's a terribly sickly creature, and I rather pity the girl. If Lizzie is her only friend, I'd prefer that my daughter visit an ill girl than have it rest on my conscience." The men agreed, but Horatio said nothing, having a creeping feeling of suspicion rising the hairs on the back of his neck. Mr Brocklehurst might be gullible to believe that Victoria Taylor was an ill friend, but Horatio guessed there was more to that story. Another man – some scandalous affair? Jealousy boiled in him at that thought. No, it must be a female friend – perhaps a disreputable one, someone that her family would disapprove of. That was more likely it, but why such secrecy about it? Surely Elizabeth would delight in horrifying her family. Pellew and Horatio went back to the dock in silence, only then the admiral informing his captain of another important mission that he would only give to his best. He explained the situation, and Horatio agreed to do it. Pellew told him carefully that he himself would be on hand to help, but Horatio knew that it was more for his own comfort than the captain's.


	9. Confusion

**Nine: Confusion**

Horatio hoped _La Sombra_ was nearby. There were more revolutionaries than he could handle and he would appreciate the extra pair of expert eyes. But, without any sign of the masked man, he had to hope for the best. He noted the target and assessed the distance. They were sure to be noticed if they tried to get to it in secret – and there were too many to fight. He looked over his shoulder, hoping for the familiar grin and sharp wit.

"Sir?" Horak questioned. "Do you wish us to proceed sir?" Horatio shook his head.

"No." They had been sitting in hiding for nearly fifteen minutes, and the men were restless. He had to make a decision either way soon, or else risk losing respect. "I… I have an idea. Follow me." He suddenly announced, leading the Irish midshipman away from the other crew. "I want you to send a signal."

"What kind of signal?" Horak looked bewildered. Horatio paused a second more – what signal would _La Sombra_ recognise?

"I want you to make an X shape – very visible. Can you do that?" Horak nodded, and the captain knew the man had enough initiative to create it. "Good. I will lead the men on an attack. Join us as soon as you've finished."

"Yessir. Good luck, sir." Horak disappeared, and Horatio rejoined the rest of the crew, drawing his sword and pistol.

"Everybody ready?" They all nodded eagerly. "Right… CHARGE!" They stood and ran towards the astonished French, Horatio praying that _La Sombra_ would see the signal in time. As he fired his pistol he saw a smoke signal floating in the air – Horak had somehow controlled the smoke to form a cross in the sky. It was brief, but the captain hoped it was enough. It was quickly becoming clear that the charge had been a mistake. The French were beating them back, and there were already six dead. "Dammit!" Horatio cursed to himself as he saw Horak join the fray. Battling his way over, he managed to give an encouraging grin. "Well done, sir."

"I hope it works, cap'n." The midshipman replied fiercely, throwing off a Frenchman with his sword.

"As do I." Horatio muttered, wondering where in God's name _La Sombra_ was. "Hotspurs! To me!" He called, trying to rally his scattered men in a last ditch attempt to reach the target. He heard a roar nearby, and a thundering of hooves. _Not cavalry!_ He thought wildly, hopelessly. To his left suddenly emerged five black chargers, seventeen hands with huge pounding hooves and rolling eyes. Leading the charge was _La Sombra_ himself, sword singing as it span in the air. Laughing, Horatio pressed forward with renewed vigour – the man was certainly full of surprises. After the arrival of the horses, the French lost heart and began to retreat. Face to face with the commander of the revolutionary troops, Horatio tilted his sword at his neck. "Do you surrender?" He demanded. The fighting froze as all turned to watch. "Do you surrender, sir?" He repeated. Slowly, reluctantly, the commander turned his sword so that the hilt faced Horatio. The captain took it, to the simultaneous clatter of dropped weapons. "Mr Horak. Detain these men." Horatio smiled. He wiped dirt and sweat from his face as he turned to _La Sombra_, who was dismounting his giant horse. They bowed. "Just in time, sir." The captain received a laugh in reply.

"I am sorry for the delay, sir. Though I rather did appreciate the signal. Very inventive."

"I admit it was mostly my midshipman's doing, but thank you."

"I hope you can handle yourself from here. Though someone such as yourself does seem to put himself in rather… compromising positions." Horatio didn't miss the mirth in his voice and chuckled.

"I would appreciate the company."

"Then I will not disappoint." _La Sombra_ bowed low, waving a hand. "After you." Horatio grinned at the high spirits, and headed for the target. A tent… Inside the tent lay a chest and he used his sword to break the lock. It was filled with papers, paintings, books and even jewellery.

"Loot from the houses in this area." Horatio explained to the guerrilla. He picked up some papers and looked at them closely. "And vital revolutionary plans, it seems. They are not too particular about where they keep it, obviously." He tucked the papers safely in his breast pocket. He straightened and looked at the rest of the loot. "It would be a shame to lose such valuables." He mused.

"I'm sure some of my men could make use of them, if you don't mind." _La Sombra_ suggested. "In a republican country, there is little money to be had and such finery as that would pay for much." The masked man leant down and picked up a painting, holding it out and sighing wistfully. "It is certainly very beautiful artwork."

"You like art?" Horatio couldn't help but sound surprised.

"Very much so."

"Then I am sure you would keep some of these for your own purposes." His companion shook his head sadly, putting the painting back.

"Alas, no. My home is no place for such… controversial things." The words were carefully placed, and Horatio pondered on them, but said nothing. "Come, now is not the time to linger. These parts are rife with French." _La Sombra_ left the tent first, and was replaced by two of his men, who lifted the chest and disappeared with it. Horatio never saw it again.

He walked alongside _La Sombra_'s charger, conversing lightly with the man. He was quick and intelligent and perceptive, and seemed to know more than he let on – even by Horatio's reckoning. With the target papers safely tucked inside his coat, Horatio felt confident. Bonaparte would certainly have a surprise when he discovered that the English knew his every move. Another horse trotted near, and the captain recognised the rider as Bernard – or, at least, thought it was, but with the soot it was so hard to tell the difference.

"_Il y a des républicains en avant. Ils ne savent pas que nous sommes ici. Encore._" _La Sombra_ started in surprise, and Horatio – who knew a little French – translated mentally… Republicans ahead, though they knew nothing of their party yet.

"_Prenez les chevaux. Cachez-les et prenez la formation. Attendez mon signal._" The leader replied quickly, dismounted and throwing the reins to Bernard.

"_Oui. Hommes! Formation de prise! Vite, allez!_" Bernard shouted, and there was an eruption of activity from the blackened fighters. _La Sombra_ looked to Horatio.

"You attract trouble like flies, sir." The captain laughed.

"So it would seem!" A grin flashed behind the mask, and then was gone, the man shouting instructions as he rushed ahead.

"Hide your men, we'll get you out." And then he was gone – Horatio truly thought he was a ghost sometimes.

"Well you heard him. Hide yourselves. Wait for my signal to move, and then get to the boats as quick as you can." With that, he followed the trail of the shadowy figure.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

After a berating from _La Sombra_ for following, the pair lay low in a thicket of ferns, the soft leaves brushing their cheeks. He could hear his heart beating and felt his pulse thrumming against his throat, his palms cold but his brow hot. Adrenaline pumped through him so hard it made his hands tremble. His gold-flecked brown eyes were fixed on the scene below, trained for any sign of movement. His was distracted briefly as his companion brushed arms, sending thrills shocking through his shoulder and across his skin. Horatio swallowed hard – frightened by it. _Elizabeth_, he thought furiously,_ think of Elizabeth…_ It calmed him mentally, but his heart beat faster. He heard _La Sombra_ shift slightly.

"Signal for your men to retreat." The leader breathed. Horatio nodded, twisted his hand and waved his hand. Swiftly, his men began to move, heading for the boats and safety. They were soon opposite him and the guerrilla, making their way downwards.

"_ICI!_" Shouted an excited voice from the pair's right. _La Sombra_ swore angrily, and Horatio felt a jolt of dismay that his men had been spotted, and musket fire broke apart branches as the crew ran hell-for-leather down the slope.

"Damn you navy!" The leader hissed. He pulled himself onto his feet, still crouching. He looked seriously at Horatio. "Go with your men, now." His voice was deadly.

"I'm not going to leave –"

"Yes you are, damn you!" He received a hefty shove. As Horatio stumbled away, he looked back at his friend.

"Thank you." He couldn't express the gratification he felt enough. _La Sombra_ grinned.

"Just say the word and I'll come running." He replied. He leant forward and landed a quick, fleeting kiss on the captain's lips. Horatio nearly choked in shock. _La Sombra_, a… no… The black-clad man was already gone, leaping into the air and screaming: "OI! AHOY!" The republicans below yelped in excitement and shots cracked around the guerrilla. Spurring his feet into action, the captain of the _Hotspur_, ran, his mind racing in a whirl of confusion. A man had just kissed him… but what bewildered him more was his lack of disgust… those lips…

"Elizabeth!" He hissed to himself furiously. "I won't… I am _not_…" He finished neither sentence, feeling the implication was too serious if he did. He reached the beach mere paces behind his men, and threw himself against a boat, pushing against the waves as they dragged the boats out to sea and into safety. He was silent on the return, and barely acknowledged the men before disappearing into his cabin, deep in thought. This was too much to contemplate. He had to rest… to forget.


	10. Farewells

**Ten: Farewells**

Oh Lord… He felt sick to the pit of his stomach as her eyes refused to meet his. Mr Brocklehurst, in a rare moment of frivolity, laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Aren't you going to congratulate us, Mr Hornblower?" He exclaimed. Horatio swallowed hard, lowering his eyes to his buckle shoes. Clearing his throat to gather his thoughts, he said:

"Congratulations, Miss Brocklehurst. I hope you are very happy." There was no reply from Elizabeth. What reply could she give? He felt as if she had torn his heart from his chest and shown it to him. His gut gave an extra twist. How could this have happened so soon? He swore he could still taste her lips on his, feel her silken hair around his fingers. Elizabeth dipped a curtsey.

"If you'll excuse me gentlemen." She whispered, her voice barely audible. Was she ashamed because she had led him on? Or was she grieving too? Horatio forced himself to look away. Women had never been good news… Mr Brocklehurst was talking with Admiral Pellew about the coming arrangements, but Horatio just wanted to leave – he felt suffocated by the prim chairs and stiflingly neat room. It all seemed so… pretentious. It was one big act; the world a stage and people the players… Shakespeare. Had he been spurned too, when he wrote it? Did he feel the same desolate emptiness that welled inside Horatio, the frustration at the falseness of it all? _Damn you_, he thought to Elizabeth. _Damn you!_

She was to be married. To the Earl of… wherever it was. Horatio didn't care. She was to be Mrs Daniel Minton, and that in itself killed him. Minton was far better than he – a mere captain of a sloop. He could give her nothing, and the Earl could give her everything. It was an ideal match. He could begrudge her nothing.

"Daniel was Henry's friend, of course. Never deemed to serve in the navy." Mr Brocklehurst chuckled. "No, it was the military for Daniel Minton. Great man… perfect for my Elizabeth. Of course, it was I that deemed the match suitable. For all her fair features, my daughter has a somewhat… _liberal_ disposition." The man smirked at this. "Love her as I do, I cannot help but worry for her. You remember Victoria Taylor? Well, apparently, she is still unwell, and Elizabeth wishes to visit her next week. Of course, I had to put my foot down – with the wedding pending, I couldn't allow her to gallivant across the country. Daniel is very conservative, and he needs a good, homely wife. Such expeditions are no good." Horatio could bear no more of the inane babble, and left abruptly, not even considering to take his leave. Pellew looked briefly upset, but said quietly to Mr Brocklehurst:

"Mr Hornblower has experienced a poor few journeys across the channel – he's not quite himself. You will excuse him." Horatio didn't care what Mr Brocklehurst thought of his abrupt temperament. He made his way to the garden, hoping for a respite. It was not to be. Elizabeth sat on the edge of the extravagant fountain, trailing a finger in the water. Her face was turned away from him, but even the sight of the back of her head pained him. He turned to leave, unnoticed.

"Don't go." He jumped. She hadn't even looked around, but now she did, standing and twisting her fingers around one another awkwardly. "I need to explain."

"There is nothing to explain, Miss Brocklehurst." He bowed, and made to leave again.

"I'm sorry, Horatio." His name felt like a dagger in his ribs, and he shut his eyes, face turned away so as not to show his anguish. "If I could change this, I would. I wanted to tell you… but you were away and I could send no word without my father… oh, Horatio, please look at me." She sounded stricken as she laid a hand on his arm. He looked down at the pale, freckly face he loved so completely. She was crying, and it took all his will to force down the burning tears. "I wish it were you."

"As do I." He murmured. Her bottom lip trembled as he reached up and wiped away a tear from her cheek.

"Horatio…" He wanted to kiss her. But she was engaged. He took a step back. "Oh Lord, if I could change this… Daniel is nothing compared to you. I hated him when he was my brother's friend and I still loathe him now. More so, if it were possible, because it means I can't be with you. The one thing I want in all the world…" Her voice cracked, and she looked away, taking a deep breath.

"I should go." He provided, already stepping towards the house.

"When do you next sail?" She asked desperately. He paused.

"Two days."

"Then come again." Horatio managed a smile. "Please."

"You couldn't keep me away." She smiled then. A shaky, unsure smile. He reached out and kissed her hand. There could be no more words said. It was done. And Elizabeth could see Horatio already distancing himself from her. She loved him. She had from the moment she had seen him – despite his apparent haughtiness – and now she was losing him. Almost as soon as she had found him. It was too much to bear. He wouldn't come.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"Horatio." Bush nodded, indicating to someone behind the captain. Horatio turned, and saw Elizabeth. His whole body jolted at the sighted of her again. She was more beautiful than before. She smiled slightly at him.

"Mr Hornblower." She said quietly.

"Miss Brocklehurst." He bowed. "How can I help you?"

"You never visited." She ignored his question. Clearing his throat, Bush made his exit. "Why?"

"I…" Her eyes. Those adorable, bright eyes. The eyes of an angel. But they were gone now. Dulled, wistful and jaded. It pained him to see it. "I couldn't bear saying goodbye."

"Then I will not prolong this farewell." She stepped forward, holding out a hand. "For you." He let her drop the object into his palm. A locket of silver, the ornate plate hanging from the chain had a sapphire set in the middle. It was small, delicate and elegant. Just like Elizabeth. "Perhaps you may remember me still, Horatio." She managed another quick smile before she turned to leave.

"Wait." Thinking quickly, he took a button from his coat, the navy threads hanging forlornly. "Then perhaps you may remember me." He handed it to her, and she turned it over between her fingers. A gold button, with the navy crest on it. She looked at him, eyes briefly alight with gratitude.

"I need no token to remember you. I won't ever forget." With that, she left. It would probably be the last he ever saw of her, and made sure it was burned into his memory. He would treasure that image.

Bush nodded to his coat as Horatio boarded the _Hotspur_.

"You've lost a button Horatio."

"It must have knocked off, William." The captain replied repressively, and his lieutenant smirked. Horatio could feel the locket around his neck, the pendant pressing against the hollow of his collarbone. "Set a course for Brest, if you would, Mr Bush." He announced confidently, looking at the open sea beyond the mouth of the harbour. Freedom. Never did it look so unfriendly and lonely.


	11. Mysteries Are Revealed

**Eleven: Mysteries Are Revealed**

_La Sombra_ appeared in his typical surprising fashion. They had camped on the beach in Brest – a rare thing, but Horatio couldn't bear the confines of his cabin any longer. The masked leader had appeared at the fireside suddenly, taking most of the crew aback, but just bringing a smile to the captain's lips. An extra shadow appeared in the flickering flames, beside Horatio.

"You are very brazen – sitting on enemy territory." The announcement of his arrival made the men jump, but Horatio barely flinched, though he was as startled as the rest.

"I had the confidence that you would be nearby." He replied. The guerrilla and his four followers were invited to join them, and they did gratefully – the four soot-covered men preferring each other's company as opposed to the _Hotspur_ crew, but _La Sombra_ sat with Bush and Horatio. Bush talked with him lightly, about nothing in particular. But Horatio sat in silence, barely touching his food, staring at the fire. He watched the sparks crackle along the dry wood, consuming it feverishly. He did not notice when Bush stood and left. Nor did he notice _La Sombra_'s scrupulous eyes.

"Do you love her?" Horatio nearly jumped into the air when the man spoke. He looked around.

"What?"

"The woman you're thinking of. Do you love her?" Horatio stared in shock as his companion, who just returned the gaze levelly. It unnerved him. "Come, sir, you do not think I am stupid."

"No, but…" He trailed off. Dare he mention the kiss? He sighed heavily and stared back at the fire. "How is it one person can have such a hold?"

"I don't know."

"My memory is consumed by her every waking minute and more so when I sleep. I dream of her every night and wish that I woke to her beside me." If Horatio had been able to see under the mask, he would have seen a blush. "I think I could love her. I think I _do_ love her. But she is to marry, and that is best for her." He shrugged, trying to make it meaningless. "I could offer her nothing."

"Oh, quite the contrary, sir, I believe you could offer her everything she could ever wish for." The voice was so quiet in reply, Horatio wasn't sure if _La Sombra_ had actually spoken at all. He made to rise, but Horatio halted him by lifting a hand and resting it on his elbow. Halfway to standing, the mysterious man looked down at him.

"Sir, if I may be so bold…" The masked stranger sat back down again. "I want to ask about our last… you see, I would like to know…" How could he phrase this? It was a tentative subject, and such bold questions were not in his nature – despite Admiral Pellew's belief.

"If I am a sodomite?" _La Sombra_ asked lightly. He laughed. "No, I am most certainly not." Horatio was bewildered now – it seemed a curiously obvious answer.

"Then, why –"

"I don't know." He stood again and bowed quickly. "My men and I will be nearby, I assure you no one will know of your presence but us. Sleep well, Horatio." It took a few moments for him to realise that he had never told _La Sombra_ his title – let alone his first name.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Admiral Pellew bowed to Mr Brocklehurst as the proprietor greeted his guest in the drawing room.

"Ah, Admiral. What can I do for you?" Mr Brocklehurst had certainly seemed less serious since the engagement was announced. Pellew smiled slightly.

"It is rather what your daughter can do for me. You see, I was hoping for an audience with Miss Brocklehurst." The father looked a little chagrined at that.

"Alas, she has gone to visit Miss Taylor again, despite my express wish for her not to. Elizabeth is a very loyal friend." Pellew frowned.

"Indeed. Well, it is rather urgent I'm afraid. Do you have the address of the Taylors?"

"No. Apparently it is quite a distance though. I can certainly get Giles to send word to her of your visit."

"Yes. I guess that will have to do." Pellew rubbed his chin thoughtfully before taking his leave. "Thank you, Mr Brocklehurst." _That was very insightful_, he added silently, before heading back to his ship and instructing them to set sail for Brest. There was more happening there than just Bonaparte.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"Fine morning, captain." Observed _La Sombra_ from behind Horatio, making him jump. He turned to see his companion dressed, as always, in black, masked face tilted to the sky and gloved hands clasped behind his back. He rocked briefly on the balls of his feet and smirked at Horatio. "Let us hope it says so fair." Their mission had been delayed two days already from poor weather – first, thick overpowering sea fogs that meant they couldn't see beyond their noses and the next and almighty storm, and it had been too dangerous in the woods, as was proven when a tree was hit by lightening and had nearly burned half the forest if they hadn't intervened.

"Indeed, sir." The captain smiled. The sun was bright and fresh – the sky clear of all clouds, and the wind was a brisk, cool westerly.

"Now," his friend said, treading towards him, "what is the task this time?" Horatio laughed.

"We are simply to scout the area and send a report to the admiralty. Boney's been up to something along this coastline for a long time and this is a regular foray. And besides, I thought you only appeared when in need and knew everything, especially what to do." _La Sombra_ shrugged lightly, his face sparking playfully. He was in high spirits today, the captain observed, and found his own lifted too.

"Ah, but this is merely a leisure visit, sir, I assure you." Horatio harrumphed before replying:

"Then I pray it remains leisurely."

"Oh, I doubt it will." _La Sombra_ quipped, before moving further away to talk to Bush. He shook his head at the irrepressible leader, continuing to unload the quarter boat.

"_Excusez-moi, monsieur, mais…_" The guerrilla follower looked bashful. "You are ze Capitan 'Ornblowurr."

"Yes."

"I am a great admirur of your wurk, _monsieur_." Horatio felt flattered, and gave a shy smile.

"Thank you."

"_Non_, _merci beaucoup_. You are an inspiration to us." The man bowed low. "I am an 'umble followur of _La Sombra_, and it is an honour to meet you."

"I rather think I should be thanking you, sir. You and your fellows have saved us on more than one occasion." The man grinned widely and bowed low to the ground.

"It is our duty, _monsieur_, to our country and our leadur." The man left, and was replaced again by _La Sombra_, who laughed at Horatio's blushes.

"My men are very loyal, sir. And they are much in awe of you."

"I'm not sure –"

"Don't ask why, sir." _La Sombra_ interrupted seriously. "You know what you have done for their country and your men. To them, your deeds and your name is enough to give them heart." He paused meaningfully. "You are so much to the rest of us, and yet you do not see yourself in such a light." He sounded almost curious. "The ultimate symbol of selflessness."

The scouting party was just one of three, spread out across the stretch of land beyond the landing beach, scouring the area for any signs of Bonaparte. The documents Horatio had retrieved before had signified a strong concentration of activity in this vicinity, and Admiral Pellew had expressed a strong wish for him to explore it further. Horatio looked at those around him; Styles, Matthews and _La Sombra_. Bush was leading another, together with two of _La Sombra_'s men, and Horak leading the third party with the last of the guerrillas. The marines were staying on the beach, to guard the boat and cover a retreat. They were all on their bellies, wriggling over the tough grass to look into the next hollow of ground. The previous one had been empty – bereft of even wildlife. Now, they peered over the natural ledge into the hollow, pistols by their cheeks. Nothing.

"Look." Styles hissed suddenly, pointing downwards. Amongst a throng of ferns was a boot. Quickly and surreptitiously, the four descended and approached the ferns. Horatio leant in and grasped the boot and pulled. With a crash and crack of breaking undergrowth, a body appearing, half-stiffened in _rigor mortis_, and the skin a pallid grey-blue colour underneath republican uniform. _La Sombra_ sucked in his breath, grabbing Horatio and yanking him away from the body.

"What is it?" The captain queried.

"Disease. Look." Around the corpse's mouth and eyes were swarms of flies, feasting on what looked like crusted green-yellow pus. All of them instinctively took another step back. "They _were_ here. But something poisoned them, and they've gone." Horatio looked around, scanning the trees.

"Well, they must be nearby – the body's not more than two days." As if in answer there were shouts and cracks of musket fire. Breaking into a run, he realised it was Bush's party. Swearing, he quickened his pace, drawing his sword at the same time. Matching him step for step was _La Sombra_, face drawn in a pale line. He would be worrying for his men. They began to scale the slope, but breaking through the trees were Bush and his party, closely followed by republicans, some on horseback. _La Sombra_ fired his pistol at the same time as Horatio, felling two Frenchmen. Bush was soon next to them, and they began a desperate retreat. They were joined by Horak's party at the lip of the slope to the beach, but the republicans closed in around them, forcing them along the ridge as opposed to down it. The guerrilla leader took them into a dense patch of trees where the horses couldn't follow. Crouching down, every man loaded their pistol. One of the blacked-out rebels shots an approaching republican.

"Ready to make your last stand?" Bush whispered, somewhat good-naturedly.

"Not quite." _La Sombra_ replied, shooting another Frenchman and reloading.

"Well I don't see a way out." Horatio argued.

"See where this thicket thrusts out?" The leader nodded his head in the direction of the jut of trees. "It goes partway down to the beach, and the rest is covered by bushes and nettles. I'll cover your retreat if you get to the boats." A bullet ricocheted off a tree trunk nearby.

"But what about you?" _La Sombra_ shot his pistol before answering.

"I'll be all right. I've never been caught before." He flashed a wicked grin. "Now go, before the French reach the beach." Horatio opened his mouth to protest, but Bush grabbed his arm, and he led his men away from the guerrillas as the fighting broke out anew. The trees were tightly clustered together for a good few feet down the slop, keeping the _Hotspur_ crew well hidden. At the edge of the thicket, high brambles and ferns were pockmarked with nettles and wildflowers. This was their escape route. One by one, the captain ushered them down – sending Horak first and Bush in the middle to protect their whereabouts.

"Just you and I left, Matthews." Horatio murmured.

"Aye, aye sir." Matthews crept into the undergrowth as the shots came nearer. _La Sombra_ was retreating too. For a moment, Horatio considered going back and helping. "Captain! Sir!" Matthews hissed, beckoning to him; with a regretful glance and reluctant sigh, he started his passage downwards. From behind, he heard more cracks of muskets and a distinctive cry of pain. Horatio froze, looking back up the slope. Matthews stopped too, his grey head further down. The cry was odd – a strange sound in battle, though they weren't sure why. It seemed out of place, and the captain couldn't connect it with the masked leader he knew.

"Matthews, with me!" He called in a hushed voice, and ran as fast as he could back to the thicket. Lying half sheltered by a tree at the edge of the thicket was _La Sombra_, panting with his eyes closed and teeth gritted. "_La Sombra_!" He called, and the man opened his eyes, the blue marred with agony. He could see the black shirt slick and shining with blood on the right shoulder, a musket-shot hole in the cloth.

"My pistol arm." _La Sombra_ groaned. "It's ruined."

"But you're not yet, sir." Horatio leant down and helped him to his feet as Matthews shot an approaching republican.

"All my men." _La Sombra_ gasped fitfully as they escaped down the slope. "Dead… Oh Lord…" Horatio shushed him as they reached the rocks bordering the beach. Gunfire exploded around them, and he could hear Bush shouting instructions. They reached the boat and took cover behind it. The masked leader had lost too much blood to stay steady on his feet, but Horatio could see the exit wound through his shoulder blade as he lay the young man down in the sand. All of a sudden the firing stopped. He looked up, startled by the onslaught of silence.

"Mr Bush. What's happening?" His lieutenant stood.

"All dead sir." Horatio grimaced.

"There'll be more. Prepare the boat to return to the ship." It was Bush's turn to grimace. The captain looked questioning.

"Sir." He looked at the boat and his heart plummeted. "They managed to scupper it with musket fire before Mr Horak mounted an attack on his arrival. Without his quick thinking, the marines would have been killed." The boat was punctured with several sizeable holes – it would sink if they tried to row it. After thanking Horak for his bravery, Horatio resigned himself to the fate that he was to die on the beach. The _Hotspur_ was at a significant distance out to sea, around the next headland, so as not to be spotted, and he had no way of getting word to them for a rescue.

"I am sorry you are to die alongside me." _La Sombra_ told him as dusk fell and the sea mists came in. Horatio tutted.

"You won't die. Besides, if it were to come to that, then I will be honoured to die at your side." The masked man laughed quietly, wincing as the makeshift bandage covering his wound moved. It was a torn shirt from a fallen marine, tied around the outside of his shirt, as he had refused to remove it.

"It would be more of an honour if I could fight."

"There's fight left in you yet." He laughed again, then groaned.

"Please, don't make me laugh." They were interrupted from further conversation by Horak standing and pointing out to sea, calling:

"Sail ho!" Horatio stood too, and followed the midshipman's direction. Sure enough, on the horizon and rapidly approaching, were billowing white sails. "I can't make out the colours sir."

"Glass." He instructed, and aimed it at the ship. "Colours are hidden, Mr Horak." He lowered the telescope. "We have to assume the worst, gentlemen." He looked at the dejected faces, and then to _La Sombra_, propped against the hull of the ruined boat. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, sir." Styles sighed. "We'd have followed you all the same – whatever happened." Horatio felt touched at the loyalty, and it warmed his heart and brought a smile to his lips, which was shared by _La Sombra_ – whose curl of his mouth was jaded by the pain from his shoulder. He sat beside the wounded man and turned the telescope over and over in his hands, staring at the dusk glinting dully from the polished wood and glass.

"The mists are coming in fast. And thick. We won't see anyone until they're upon us." He told the captain, a breathlessness to his voice.

"Are you all right?"

"Well enough, I assure you."

"Your wound is very serious, you know. If we don't get you to a surgeon soon –"

"Then I will die. I know the consequences, Horatio." He replied wearily. There was a moment of silence as Horatio pondered his words. They were announced with defeat.

"How do you know my name? I don't even know yours." There was a rasping chuckle, and the black-clad man shifted slightly in the sand – trying to alleviate the throbbing in his shoulder.

"I know more about you than you would think." But however much the captain cajoled, _La Sombra_ would say no more on the subject. Instead, he expressed his wish to sleep. He couldn't deny the request, and so left him to sleep – wile away the hours until the French came upon them. It was not a heroic last stand, as he had wished once. But, Horatio decided, he needed no heroic gestures, for who would remember them? Not Elizabeth…

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The muffled splash of oars arrived at the stranded crew of the _Hotspur_ suddenly, and they all jumped to their feet, ready for the battle. They heard the crunch at the hull of the boat hit the sand and the splash of feet jumping into the shallows to pull it ashore. Dim shapes appeared in the fog, and Horatio tilted his pistol.

"Hornblower, man, is that you? Don't shoot." Demanded a familiar voice. Horatio, stunned, called:

"Lower your weapons, men. Admiral Pellew!" He resisted the urge to embrace the tall frame of the Admiral as his features became distinguishable. "We thought… when we saw the sails…"

"Quite." Pellew said abruptly. "We've brought two more boats. Get your men in them quickly."

"Sir. What about..?" He indicated to the still sleeping _La Sombra_. Pellew looked mildly surprised. "He's hurt badly and needs a surgeon immediately."

"We'll take him to my ship. You go with your men back to the _Hotspur_." He winced.

"Sir. If it's all right with you, I'd prefer to accompany him to your ship…" Resignedly, Pellew agreed, his eyes betraying more than he said, but Horatio was too occupied with _La Sombra_ to notice.

Pellew's surgeon was an experienced man named James Fairweather. He took one look at _La Sombra_, who had fallen quickly into unconsciousness in the boat, and ushered them into his room. Laying him on the table, he stirred and moaned but didn't wake. Horatio looked almost as pale as the patient, and Pellew surreptitiously watched him closely.

"He's got a fever, I can break it, but first let's see this wound." Fairweather announced confidently after feeling the man's forehead. Horatio stuttered excuses about returning to the _Hotspur_. He left the surgeon carefully unwinding the temporary bandage before unbuttoning _La Sombra_'s blood-soaked shirt. Fairweather frowned and stood back. "Now. That is odd."

"Yes. It is." Pellew agreed; something just short of triumph in his voice. "Send for Captain Hornblower, I wish for his presence." Horatio was stopped as he was waiting for the boat to be lowered by one of the crew, telling him that Pellew required him immediately. Frowning, Horatio returned, and opened the door to the strangest sight he had seen in a long time.

_La Sombra_ lay on the table, with Pellew and Fairweather standing next to him, deep in discussion. The injured man's shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a thin, lithe, pale body, wrapped tightly with white bandages around his chest. The shoulder wound was bound, though bright red blood was faintly showing through already. His hat had been removed, revealing a knot of golden hair on the top of his head – in a familiar shade and longer than normal.

"Sir. You wished to see me?"

"Ah, yes. Mr Hornblower." Admiral Pellew beckoned him in, and then indicated to _La Sombra_. "I was wondering if you could tell us what this is about. You see, we are in rather a conundrum. The bandages, Mr Hornblower, what are they for?"

"Sir?"

"We have come to two conclusions." Pellew continued sharply, staring intently at Horatio. "Can you tell us what these are?" He opened and closed his mouth a few times, unsure on how to reply. "Well, our patient here may have been previously injured of course – but that would suggest blood, and it is rather surprising if he had survived a chest wound. So that would leave us one other option."

"Sir. I don't quite follow."

"He's hiding something, man!" Pellew stormed suddenly, frustration in his face. There was silence. Slowly, Horatio moved beside _La Sombra_, reached up and unpinned the hair, which fell in a soft wave off the table, hanging like a sheet of gold. His heart was pounding, and he reached around and untied the black silk mask covering _La Sombra_'s face. The room was tight with tension, and Horatio pulled the mask off – slowly, and a little reluctantly. The eyes were shut and seemingly peaceful, for the brows were relaxed. A small, straight nose was covered in freckles, which spread over high cheekbones above full pink lips. He felt sick.

"Elizabeth…" He whispered, his voice barely audible. Suddenly acutely aware that her torso was exposed, he blushed and wrapped the shirt around her again, covering her modestly. Pellew nodded to Fairweather, and they left, leaving Horatio with the girl. "Oh Lord, what have you done?" He groaned, touching her frail fingers inside the black gloves.


	12. Confessions

**Twelve: Confessions**

In exceptional circumstances, exceptional measures were taken. Horatio gave up his command (briefly) of the _Hotspur_ to Bush, whilst he remained on the _Indefatigable_ in the sick bay with Elizabeth. Her fever had lessened, but she was in considerable amounts of pain, and her wound bled afresh every time the bandages were changed. They had replaced her blood-stained black shirt with a new white shirt, but Horatio couldn't bear the thought of removing the bindings that held her chest. Se slept in a hammock, occasionally dreaming fitfully, but her murmured words were unrecognisable. It was not until Pellew had set a course for Portsmouth that she woke. She was dreaming, confusing, bewildering dreams that frightened her, and she frowned, trying to pull herself away.

…_"Horatio!_" _Her voice echoed hollowly down the long, white corridor. It was eerily quiet. She walked down the corridor until it broke into two. Stopping, she looked around. "Horatio?" She took a step down the left corridor and appeared in a forest…_

… "_I'm not going to leave –"_

"_Yes you are, damn you!"…_

…_The marble fountain was cold beneath her fingers and she could see his faint shadow following her as she moved. He was like a ghost. No, he was a ghost. He stepped backwards, fading into the night, as she reached out desperately for him… _

… "_I couldn't bear to say goodbye"…_

…_His lips burned into hers, urging her, tasting her. She tasted blood, and moved away. There was blood on his lips and on his hands. She cried out in horror as he looked down and she followed his gaze – a gaping wound in his stomach, pouring scarlet blood across him…_

…_Her shoulder seared white-hot, flames of agony writhing over her. She cried out, feeling hot, wet blood pouring forth from the wound. She stumbled, landing in the crook of a tree._

"_Oh, Horatio…" She whispered. She wished she could die a hero's death. But, who would notice? Not Horatio…_

"Horatio!" She cried out, choking on tears. She could feel movement beneath her, and wondered why the world swung. Forcing her eyes open with a gasp, she saw wooden planks above her, with square patterns of sunlight swaying across them. She looked around, and saw a pair of intense brown eyes, filled with emotion. _I must be dead_, Elizabeth thought, _and those are the eyes of an angel_. "Horatio…" She whispered desperately, hoping that he wasn't dead too, as she had dreamed. Suddenly, she felt sharp, throbbing pains in her shoulder, and yelped in anguish. The angel spoke; the voice blurred and incomprehensible, and then she tasted something sharp on her lips. Laudanum… Sleep coaxed her back, drawing darkness like a comforting curtain around her.

He couldn't believe his eyes. She'd woken, her bright blue eyes vaguely fixing on him before Fairweather had given more laudanum for the pain. She had said his name. She surely had said his name. He touched the pendant, hidden underneath his shirt, where it permanently hung around his neck. After removing her gloves, he had found his button tied to a ribbon around her wrist, and it had given him some hope. As her breathing settled again, he looked at the drawn, freckled face. How could it be that someone so young had suffered so much? Her dreams distressed him as much as they did her, and he ached to soothe away her suffering. He reached out and touched her motionless hand, praying for her to be safe. It should have been him in her place – he should have made the last stand. Not a young girl… A hand rested comfortingly on his shoulder, and he looked up.

"Admiral Pellew." He smiled briefly, and turned his gaze back to his vigil. The Admiral looked pained.

"You weren't to know, Horatio."

"I should have recognised –"

"She kept it well-hidden." He took a deep breath and sat down next to the young captain. "She's a brave, strange woman. She kept it hidden from her family; it was easy to deceive us."

"But why? Why would she want to do… this?"

"Only she would be able to tell you that." Pellew rose again and patted him gently. As he began to leave, Horatio spoke again.

"How did you guess, sir?"

"I didn't. I had my suspicions."

"You came to Brest following your instinct?" It surprised him that his commander should follow a whim.

"You would have done the same." There was an irony in his words, and Horatio smiled.

"Aye, sir, I believe I would."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Elizabeth woke again, her foggy mind clearing as she saw moon shadows on the wooden ceiling above her. She felt the rough cloth of the hammock she lay in swing to the tide. It was night, and silent. She heard footsteps on the planks above her – someone on watch moving to and fro. She didn't want to move, already feeling the dull throb of pain in her shoulder, but she could hear breathing nearby. Slowly she twisted her head to look around, and winced as she felt warm blood seep from her wound. Horatio sat slumped in a chair, his hat and pistol lain in his lap beneath his hands, his head lolling on one shoulder as he slept peacefully. She smiled at the sight. He was so handsome, she thought, so brave and enchanting. His long lashes brushed his cheeks, and his shapely lips were slightly parted. Her heart beat faster, but she felt a crushing ache in her chest, knowing they would never be. She had betrayed him. He would no longer care for her – she doubted if he had ever loved her. She reached a hand up to touch the bandages, and looked down in surprise. She wore a white shirt, with the bandages beneath the cotton. She moved her fingers and touched her cheeks – bare. And her hat was gone, her hair loose over her shoulders. Her heart plummeted. He knew her guise. He knew her secret. He would never trust her again. She had to leave; Elizabeth was overcome with panic at this thought, and hastened to rise, groaning and sinking back down at the sharp jolt of tenderness from her injury. Horatio stirred at the sound, and she froze, blood pounding in her ears, as he settled down again, his hat slipping to the floor. She looked down and saw the flowery scarlet blush of blood on her bandages. She would never move with that. She had to stay, unless… carefully, so as not to move her bad arm, she struggled to an upright position and swung her legs over the edge. Damn, they'd taken her boots. She cast about the room, but she saw no boots. Never mind, Elizabeth decided, standing, she could do without. She approached the window – there was nothing but stretches of sea. They were in the channel. If she just knew whether France or England was nearer, she could make it. She turned, deciding that she would row the opposite way to the ship – she preferred her chances in France. She could assume a new identity… begin again… without the trouble of _La Sombra_ or class-ruled life. Elizabeth tiptoed towards the door, and paused beside Horatio's chair. His breathing was low and gentle. Her heart stung at the thought that she may never see him again. Carefully, she reached out and touched the tips of her fingers on his chin, running them along his lips and cheek.

With a gasp of surprise, Horatio woke, snatching his pistol and jabbing the end into the stomach of his attacker. The silhouette stumbled back from the gun, and with a familiar cry of pain, tripped and landed on the floor, clutching their right arm.

"Elizabeth!" He yelped, realising who he had just assaulted. He fell to his knees next to her, reaching for her. She shied from his hands, her eyes filled with agony. "Oh Lord, I'm so sorry." He saw the blooms of blood across her shoulder and swore loudly. "Sorry." He muttered, realising he'd just cussed in front of a lady. He slowly helped her to her feet. "I'll get the doctor." He darted for the door, but she snatched his arm.

"No." Her voice was pleading. "He'll just give me more laudanum and I can't bear the fogginess anymore." He came back to her side, cautiously cupping her cheek in his hand. She closed her eyes and rested her head into his palm. "Oh Horatio." He could hear her heart breaking in those words.

"You need your wound re-bound." She opened her eyes, and took a step back. He thought she was angry until she answered:

"We can do it."

"Elizabeth…" _Now is not the time to be stubborn_.

"Please, Horatio. I don't want to go back to sleep again. I can't bear the dreams…" He bit his lip, and nodded slowly. "Thank you. Find the bandages, please." He turned away and opened the drawer where Fairweather kept the rolls of cloth. Picking one up, he turned back around, but froze, his mouth sagging open. She had turned her back on him, and unbuttoned the shirt and taken her arms out, so that it rested around her waist. She had unwrapped the bindings around her chest and discarded them. Her hair fell in a sheet down her smooth, bare back, her face turned sideways on as she carefully untied the bandages on her shoulder, wincing as she did so. Her skin was as smooth as marble and looked as soft as silk, bathed in the milky paleness of the moon, there was a slight curve at the base of her back, and he could see the dip of her spine. Her shoulders were dusted with freckles, and she had two dimples at the bottom of her back. He blushed as he felt a stirring in his groin, and swallowed hard, trying to ignore the feelings the sight caused.

"I… I have the bandages." Elizabeth paused, biting her lower lip, which only caused his staunchness to slip all the more. _Oh Lord, this is too sweet a torture!_ He saw the last of the dirtied bandages slip from her wound, and saw the tear in her flesh, vivid and red and weeping blood. "You will need to bind them. I'll… I'll leave the room." He stretched out his hand, offering the bandages, and modestly looking away.

"Horatio. I can't tie them tight enough." This statement was met with silence. He knew what was coming, and wished it to be so, yet fervently wished that it wouldn't happen. "Look at me." She barely whispered. It took all his willpower, and Horatio looked at Elizabeth. She was facing him now, her eyes wide and trusting. He visibly gulped. "Please." Her small, round breasts were the colour of ivory under the moonlight, her belly smoothed, with the tiniest teardrop-shaped curve below her ribs and hugging her breeches. He opened his mouth, but could make no sound. Forcing his feet to move, he approached her, and saw her blush at his blatant appraisal.

As he started to wind the bandages about her wound, carefully, he saw her jaw tighten in pain. He had to distract her from it… He had to distract himself from her…

"Victoria Taylor doesn't exist, does she?" He asked slowly.

"No. I invented her as an easy excuse to leave."

"How long have you been _La Sombra_?"

"Two years. Oliver was for the two years before that." Who was Oliver? A lover? He concentrated hard on his task, trying to ignore the smooth shape of her collar as it dipped to her neck, creating a tiny hollow of skin, where he could place his tongue…

"Who is Oliver?"

"He was my best friend…" Her voice cracked, and there was silence. "He was killed in Spain."

"Why did you do it? Why did he do it?"

"I was never sure why he did it. He sometimes took me with him – Samuel, our servant, used to sneak me out of the house, and tell my family that I was suffering from a terrible migraine and wished to be left alone." She gave a short laugh, but hissed as it stabbed her shoulder. He hushed her gently. "When he was killed… I didn't want to carry on. But I couldn't just stop… And then a week later, Henry was killed." He saw her swallow hard, and felt himself lose a little more control. "Mother grieved so hard for him… It was my duty to do something. And so, I started to help the Englishmen. Before, no one ever saw us. But I had to help them – I couldn't let them die like my brother. They had sisters and wives and parents, waiting for them at home. Praying, just as we did for Henry. The Spanish called me _La Sombra_. The Shadow. It was appropriate, I guess. I never stayed for long. Appearing and disappearing."

"There are records on you. The first sighting was March, two years ago." He added.

"The month after Henry." She paused. He began to tie the bandages tight. "I never stayed for too long. I would have risked my safety. I couldn't die, and leave mother. But then, I also couldn't stay in case I became attached to one of those I helped. Because I knew that they might be saved that time… but the next time I couldn't say if I would get there in time." She looked brazenly up at him, and Horatio decided it was the most erotic thing he had ever seen – a half-naked woman staring at him, her soul laid bare in her eyes. "I made that mistake with you… I got attached. And I almost lost you… so many times; I thought that I would lose you. And then all this…" She trailed away, and looked at her feet. "I guess that losing you physically would have been better than this – better than having to suffer losing you, but knowing I could still see you, still hear you." He had finished with the bandages, but made no move to step back. She thought he had gone – she thought that he no longer cared. How far from the truth! He hooked a finger under her chin, just as he did in the garden that lifetime ago.

"Oh Elizabeth, you have no idea…" He gasped, leaning for her lips. She met him eagerly. "You have no idea…" He couldn't remember what he was meant to say. His hand ran from her chin in a gentle line down her neck and over her collar bone, his thumb touching that little hollow. Dare he… Theirs tongues met, and he felt rather than heard her groan. Her good hand wrapped its fingers around his, and moved his hand lower, until he felt the soft globe of her breast. Her hand moved away leaving his fingers touching her dark pink nipple. He caressed it carefully, eliciting another moan.

"Horatio…" She murmured as his lips moved down her throat, his tongue flicking out into the hollow at the crook of her neck. He felt the curve of her belly and the dip of her belly button with his other hand, until he felt the edge of her breeches and the crumpled shirt. She gasped as he tugged away the shirt. He could feel the strain in his groin, and craved the alleviate it. Her good hand roved down the front of his coat, and touched the bulge in his trousers. She gasped again, and pulled away, but as his lips crushed against hers again, it tentatively returned, and her fingers touched him. He moaned desperately, so close to losing control. "We shouldn't." She whispered against his mouth. "We can't." With a wrench, she pulled herself away, panting heavily, her eyes dewy with lust. She pressed her lips together, tasting him there. "I'm sorry." She managed to say, picking up her shirt and pulling it on with great difficulty. He had to redeem himself.

"Here." He stepped forward and began to button the shirt, knowing she couldn't do it with her injury.

"Thank you." He stepped backwards again; trying to stop the tides of sensations whirled through him. He was a gentleman, and he had been acting in a very ungentlemanly manner. He felt horrified at himself – he had been treating her like a common whore. "Horatio." Her voice drew him back to the present. "I want you to know… I have to leave."

"What do you mean, leave?" He exclaimed, startled.

"I can't stay aboard this ship. I'll disgrace my family – they'll turn me out and I'll have nowhere to go. You have to understand. I have to return to France."

"You can't. We're in the middle of the channel, and you can't row with your shoulder like that." Tears sprang to her eyes at his sharp words. He opened his mouth to apologise.

"Then what do you suggest I do? Even if they forgive me, I will be confined to the house, never allowed to leave without someone accompanying me. And then I will be made to marry that vile creature, Earl Daniel Minton." Tears poured hotly down her cheeks. "I could never love him. I used to think love was such a silly notion… but now… And Daniel is just horrid. I couldn't do it." She stared desperately at him. "I'd rather have died back in France, Horatio, than have to face a marriage to such a man."


	13. Deception

**Thirteen: Deception**

The decision had to be made as to what was to be done about Elizabeth. The stitches wouldn't seal the wound, but she refused anything to take away the pain – saying that the dreams were more agonising than the reality – and spent her time wandering in circles around the sick bay, as she wasn't allowed on deck. None but Horatio, Fairweather and Pellew knew her true identity. Women weren't exactly welcomed on ships, and Pellew made the prudent decision to keep her hidden at all times. She longed to have the fresh air on her face, but did not argue, it would only make her fate worse. Horatio had strictly told her that she would come to Portsmouth with them, and she wouldn't escape, and – despite desperately wanting to hit him and leave anyway – she had obeyed. After waking up two nights ago, Elizabeth had been left to her own devices. Horatio had reluctantly returned to the _Hotspur_, visiting once or twice a day to check on her progress. At night, he either lay awake thinking of her, or he slept fitfully, dreaming of her creamy skin and innocent, bright eyes and her soft, pliable mouth. She consumed him with every breath. He hated to see her practically caged, like some dangerous beast, when she was nothing but a scared young girl – desperately fighting against her destiny. It killed him that he couldn't save her. She had saved him on numerous occasions, and yet he had done nothing heroic in return. It was as Portsmouth grew on the horizon that Horatio visited her with a plan. He knocked carefully, trying not to think of her half-naked body in the moonlight.

"Enter." Came a wearied voice. He opened the door, and she paused in her pacing to note her visitor. "Ah, hello." She added dully, returning to working a groove into the planks.

"You'll wear those boards away with all that walking." He smirked, but she gave no reply. "Elizabeth…" He hesitated as she looked at him. It scared him how expressionless those eyes were. They were the eyes of an angel – his angel – but they were gone.

"Don't try to comfort me, Horatio." She slumped into a seat. "I'm so tired of sympathetic words. I need real solutions…" She stared out the window wistfully. It seemed so beautiful to her – even though the sky was heavy and grey and the water was the colour of iron. "I want to feel real air again. I want to be able to walk freely."

"I may have a solution." Horatio smiled as she looked hopeful. He strode to a cupboard and unlocked it with a key hidden in his cuff. From it, he produced a black silk mask and a black wide-brimmed hat. He turned and bowed with a flourish. "_La Sombra_, sir, will you do me the honour of walking with me on deck as we come in to Portsmouth?" Elizabeth laughed wildly, snatching the objects and flinging her arms around his neck.

"Thank you Horatio!" She pulled back slightly and looked into those beautiful eyes. They were the eyes of an angel – her angel – and they looked so alive in that moment. "You have no idea how grateful I am."

"I think I do." He breathed, bending down and laying a soft, fleeting kiss on her lips. Her breath caught in her chest as her eyes widened. Ever since that night, she hadn't dared believe it was true. She told herself every hour that he did not care for her, yet by the next hour, she was in the belief that he did. "Quickly now," he disentangled himself from her arms, "we don't have long until we make port."

And so, when Horatio came on deck, Pellew was stunned to see a masked figure emerge behind him. Elizabeth wore a clean white shirt, black breeches and black boots, black hat and black mask, her chest bound tightly (this had been overcome by Horatio closing his eyes and holding the bandages tight whilst she wound them – a comical sight, to say the least). She bowed to the Admiral.

"Sir. I would like to thank you for your hospitality, but I shall be docking in Portsmouth aboard the _Hotspur_." Pellew returned the genuflection, glancing to Horatio, who kept his face conveniently blank. As they waited for the jolly boat to take them back to the sloop, Pellew took his young captain aside discreetly.

"Is this a wise decision, Mr Hornblower?" Horatio smiled comfortingly and nodded.

"I know what I'm doing sir." Pellew grunted in a way that suggested he very much doubted that. They boarded the _Hotspur_ just as the two ships were preparing to enter port. Horatio scampered up to the quarterdeck, followed by Elizabeth. The crew stared in open surprise at the reappearance of _La Sombra_. The anchor was dropped with an almighty splash that rocked the ship briefly before it settled into its berth. There was a roar of confusion and activity as the men prepared to disembark, and Bush, Horatio and Elizabeth stood, motionless as rocks in the maelstrom. Horatio tried to force his eyes away from her, but found him constantly glancing to his right to see her again. How easily one could be fooled, he realised, for she passed as a young man again – even her stance was masculine. She stood with legs spread apart and hands clasped tenderly behind her back, her shoulders square, her chin jutting out arrogantly, lips and eyes expressionless as she surveyed those around her. The billowing shirt gave no indication of her being a woman at all.

"All ready, cap'n." Horak touched his hand to his forehead.

"Very good, Mr Horak. Prepare the quarter boat."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The quayside, if anything, was more overwhelming than being aboard the sloop. Hundreds of seamen rushed around them as they stepped off the boat onto solid ground. The new sensation made Elizabeth sway a little, but she made no indication of her discomfort. She strode confidently beside Bush behind Horatio up the smooth stone steps. There were already mutterings around them from men of varying stations.

"It's _La Sombra_."

"Told you 'e was young, di'n I?"

"Look! It's 'im!"

"Saved me life once, 'e did."

"Bloody brave, I tell ya, age don't come into it."

"My brother owes his life to that man."

"Bloody hell, never realised he was so young!" A few even had the confidence to give a quick bow to the infamous figure of the guerrilla leader. Horatio had to hide a smile – how little they knew. Elizabeth returned the bows with a quick smile and nod of the head – utterly masculine in its execution. As they tried to step off the stairway, through the throngs, a busy, hassled midshipman knocked into Elizabeth, nearly sending her tumbling backwards.

"Sorry, sir!" The midshipman gasped.

"Not to worry, no harm. Just watch where you're going." Elizabeth replied before Horatio could intervene with a furious rebuke. Her voice had dulled to a husky, male voice. How did she do it? He wondered. But he didn't care, for as the midshipman move away, he saw the scowl overtake her face. She was in pain. Trying not to show he was looking, he observed her tenderly reach up and touch her shoulder. The man had knocked her injury, and she could feel warm blood begin to seep into the bandages again.

They moved past the initial crowd, hugging the edge of the dockside, the sheer drop to the sluggish waters mere steps away. Horatio tried to oversee the unloading of his cargo, but found it nearly impossible. Word had got out about the arrival of _La Sombra_, and a small mass of people had come for a glimpse. Elizabeth was both baffled and embarrassed by the attention, and stayed back from the happenings, hoping not to be seen too much.

"_La Sombra_! Sir! It's an honour ter meet yer sir!" Cried an excited voice, and a man sprang in front of her, grabbing her right hand and shaking it enthusiastically. "Name's David Greening, sir. Saved me life in Spain, yer did." Elizabeth tried to force a smile, but dark spots were dancing in front of her eyes. It felt like the man was pumping blood out of her wound. "I can't thank yer enough. You're an inspiration to us."

"Yes. Really? Oh, it's no problem… Thank you." She stuttered as Bush snatched the man away. He looked at her concernedly.

"Are you feeling well sir?" Elizabeth briefly thought how comical it was that Horatio's own first lieutenant didn't know her secret before she blacked out. She crumpled into the side of Horatio, who quickly grabbed her before she toppled off the edge of the quay into the muddy Portsmouth harbour. There were gasps from the crowd that had gathered as he scooped her into his arms, her head lolling against his shoulder and her injured hand hanging loosely. From beneath the cuff of the shirt showed a ribbon with a naval button tied to it, and Bush stared at it in surprise. Spurring himself into action, he used his bellowing voice to roar: "Make way!" The gathering parted like water before the prow of a boat, and Horatio rushed Elizabeth down the gap, his face drawn.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"She should have been brought to me straight away!" Scolded the doctor, adjusting the wig on his bald head. He hadn't questioned the appearance of the patient without appointment, nor the reason for her disguise, but simply operated on her shoulder, and used the biggest needle and thread in his possession to sew shut the wound. "How long has she been bleeding?" Horatio swallowed hard. She had been given laudanum to help her sleep, and there would be hell to pay when she woke.

"On and off for the past six days, sir."

"Six days!" The doctor spluttered.

"Yessir."

"She could have bled to death!" Horatio blushed, feeling inwardly sick at the thought. "The shot had shattered part of her bone, and a splinter of it had embedded itself in her veins. If I hadn't removed it, her wound would never have healed. She would have simply bled anew every time she moved her arm until all the blood in her body had been pumped out of that hole." He felt positively nauseous.

"Yessir. Thank you, doctor. For all your help."

"Think nothing of it. You can stay with her until she wakes – it'll only be a few hours. She should stay in bed for at least four days." He made to leave, then paused. "May I ask… how did she come to be shot? And why is she dressed as a masked man?" Horatio faltered, but Bush, who had been standing unnoticed in the doorway, intervened.

"She snuck aboard one of our ships. She will be dealt with accordingly, sir, and you have no need to think on it." The doctor nodded, and Bush replaced him beside Elizabeth's bed. He stared searchingly at Horatio. "Did you know?" He eventually asked. His captain nodded slowly, looking ashamed.

"I'm sorry William, but we couldn't risk –"

"I understand, Horatio." He rested a hand on his shoulder. "I would have done the same thing if it had been someone I loved instead." Horatio opened his mouth, then closed it again. "The decision is now, of course, what is to be done?" He couldn't answer his lieutenant's question. The idea of it tortured him, and he looked at Elizabeth's sleeping face.

"She would have given up her life." He finally announced, as if that were his answer. There was a pause, before he continued. "She nearly did. I cannot let her go back to what she was trying to escape. She was trying to escape, William, of that I'm sure." He slumped in a nearby chair and buried his face in his hands. "Her family don't know about… this…" He waved a hand at her abandoned hat and mask. "They don't know that instead of visiting an ill friend, she's gallivanting off to France to fight a ridiculous war we should never have been involved in to start with!" He rose again, angrily, pacing the room. "If she had died there, what would have happened? They've already lost a son – how could they bear the death of another child? She's so bloody-minded, so stubborn!"

"Horatio?" Mumbled a slurry voice. Both Bush and the captain jumped and turned to look at Elizabeth. Her eyes fluttered open and closed, trying to fight away the nightmares. "The dreams…" She whispered, frowning. "Make them stop…" She yelled out in utter fear, arching her back and stiffening every muscle. Horatio darted to her side, hushing her, smoothing her hair. She drifted back to sleep, her disturbance briefly calmed.

"Damn this laudanum!" Horatio cursed. "She hates the stuff."

"It's for the best." Bush provided softly, knowing that his captain would find no comfort in the words – her dreams upset him as much as they did her. He wondered what she dreamt of. She was so young, but there were countless things she could dream about…

_…Jade-green eyes glittered at her through a black mask. She managed a smile, her lips shaking with nerves. She was glad he seemed so calm – even anticipating it with glee._

"_Ready?" The masked man asked. She nodded, not daring herself to speak. She couldn't let him see how afraid she was – he was so fearless, she had to show him she was just the same. The pistol hung heavy in her grip. She took a deep breath at the same time as her companion, and they let roar a simultaneous yell, jumping up and running down the field. The thrill of adrenaline shot through her bones at the surprised Spanish faces. She laughed as she killed, and it frightened and excited her. As she finished her last victim, she turned to him, who stood, grinning from ear to ear. "Have fun, my Liz-bee?" He crowed mockingly. She threw him a glare from behind her soot-painted face._

"_You're a beast, Oliver James." He laughed again, so hard until he held his sides. Soon, she began to laugh too, until they had tears streaming down their faces. He suddenly stopped, his face growing sombre suddenly, looking past her shoulder. She frowned. "Oliver?" She began to turn, but froze halfway at her friend's shout of:_

"_NO!" Two gunshots were heard in chorus, and she stared in horror as Oliver clutched his stomach, his emptied pistol falling from his hands. He lifted his hands to his face, and stared at the scarlet blood there. More red liquid dribbled from his lips as he crumpled to his knees. Elizabeth ran to him, grabbing him by his arms, trying to keep him upright._

"_Oliver? Olly?" She whispered hoarsely. He looked at her desperately._

"_Get out of here, Lizzie. Run." He fell from her grip, collapsing in a heap on the floor._

"_No." She yelped. "No!" But she could hear the tramp of boots already. She reached down and snatched the mask from his face, leaving his pale, strawberry-blonde features to the Spanish sun, and stood. She couldn't make her feet work properly, but somehow she stumbled out of sight, where she retched, over and over again until her throat burned with bile and there was nothing left in her stomach but leaden grief…_

_… His lips burned into hers, urging her, tasting her. She heard him groan, and felt the rumble in his mouth and chest. She tasted blood, and moved away, wondering why the salty liquid had suddenly appeared. There were two gunshots, and abruptly there was blood on his lips and on his hands. She cried out in horror as he looked down and she followed his gaze – a gaping wound in his stomach, pouring scarlet blood across him._

"_Horatio, no!" It couldn't be true. He fell to his knees, and she imitated him, desperately grappling at his forearms, trying to pull him to his feet again. "No, don't."…_

At least she wasn't dreaming of her being shot again, she thought in a moment of clarity. She didn't think she could bear the memory to haunt her much more – dogging her night and day with painful flashbacks that frightened her so much because they seemed so real. She could feel a gentle hand caressing her forehead and hair, and she leaned into it, forcing her eyes open. Those brown eyes… her angel. She smiled, and looked around.

"Where am I?" Her voice was hoarse, and took her by surprise.

"In hospital, in Portsmouth." Horatio answered softly. It was night outside, by the dark shadows and creeping gloom from the windows. The lamps had been dimmed, and his face was soft and tanned in the shallow light.

"For how long?"

"Only a few hours." She tried to move, but he gently pushed her back down again. "Stay still. You'll tear your stitches."

"My..?" She reached up and touched her wound. It stung and she sucked in her breath sharply, but she realised the hole was no longer bleeding underneath the bandages. "How did it stay shut?"

"You had some bone lodged in awkwardly – the shot hit it and splintered it. The surgeon took it out and used an awful amount of thread to sew you back up." He looked positively sick at the thought, and averted his gaze. She moved her hand to his cheek.

"You saved my life." He snorted a little at that.

"Hardly."

"You did." She argued forcefully, and he didn't try to contradict her. "You brought me here and they managed to sew up the wound. If you hadn't… If I had never got here…"

"Sh. I know. I know." He hushed her with a finger pressed over her mouth. Tears felt hot in her eyes as she looked up at him. Looked up at the man she had lost time and time again. She gently kissed his fingertip. He had died in her dreams. Just the same as Oliver. He had died, and left her, just as her friend, just as her brother had done. He wasn't dying in reality, though. But, inwardly, her heart broke just the same. She couldn't ever leave him. She couldn't bear the grief.

"Horatio. I don't want to lose you…"

"You won't."

"I will. One way or another, I will lose you. Either I will marry Daniel Minton, or you will be killed." He laughed tiredly.

"Oh, Elizabeth, I doubt very much I will be killed."

"If I hadn't been there, what would have happened?" She demanded furiously. "All those times, when I arrived and helped you escape, what would have happened if I hadn't been there? You would have died!" He opened his mouth to protest, but she spoke over him. "That day when you attacked the republicans, when Mr Horak put the signal in the sky. I was so scared I had lost you then. I thought that I would never find you – finding your body afterwards. I felt so helpless – so scared. When I started this I promised myself that I would never get attached…" She trailed away. "But I couldn't help myself. When I first saw you, you looked so desolate, but it wasn't for your own fate – it was for your men. You are the most selfless, bravest man I know, Horatio, and I can't help but think that if _La Sombra_ hadn't been created… Oliver would still be alive. And maybe Henry too. And I would never have met you. Maybe that's a good thing, in the end, if it's to be as I predict." She turned her head away, her voice choking. "After I leave this hospital, I doubt I'll ever see you again. Now, if that's how it's supposed to be, I'd rather be saved from goodbyes and have you leave now. But if you truly are the man I know, then you will stay. And somehow, someway, we'll figure it out." She spoke of desolate hope, and Horatio was struck dumb by it.

"You have to go back to your family." He told her quietly. She closed her eyes tightly, and he knew that she thought this was his farewell. "But I won't leave you."


	14. The One Night of Dreams

**This is the final chapter. Sorry! But I'm doing a sequel. It sounds conufsing, but it's not.**

**Enjoy

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Fourteen: The One Night of Dreams

Four days passed, Elizabeth was restless and hated to be kept abed, but the surgeon would give in to none of her pleas, threats or coercing. So, when she realised her arguments wouldn't work, she resigned herself to reading every book in the doctor's possession. She learnt of operating and diseases and cures, she read literature and poetry, she read doctor's logs and newspapers and letters. She read the certificates on his walls, and the plaques of commemoration above his fireplace. It amused Horatio to see her unending drive plied onto something as simple as reading.

"Today's the fourth day, Elizabeth. You can get up." He told her on the morning of the final day. With a yelp of delight, she sprang to her feet, dropping her book. He laughed and she joined him, adding a jittery step to express her joy. There was a knock at the door.

"Enter." She giggled breathlessly. It was the surgeon. "Ah, Mr Gray. A fine day, is it not?" Her bright eyes glittered with amusement, but Mr Gray did not return her jubilance.

"Indeed, Miss Brocklehurst." He replied. She opened her mouth to speak, but then shut it again with a snap, her brow knitting together. He had been told her name was Hermione James. Horatio froze, and stared in consternation. "You have a visitor." The surgeon stepped aside, and another man entered. He had a shock of pale blonde hair, and even paler skin that made him look somewhat ill. He had a weak chin, and pale, watery blue eyes that bulged at her accusingly. Elizabeth swallowed hard.

"Daniel." She gasped.

"Hello, Elizabeth." His voice was oily and careful.

"What… what are you doing here?"

"Your father regrets that he has business elsewhere. He required that I come to collect you." She blanched at this.

"I don't understand… How did you know I was here? And what business is so important as to require his attention on a Saturday?" Daniel grimaced, clenching his feeble jaw and avoiding her gaze. Horatio felt like some helpless onlooker.

"It is a private matter, Elizabeth, and you would do well not to ask such questions."

"Oh." She said quietly. Her father was ashamed. He was shunning her. She felt the acrid bitterness of rejection in her mouth.

"As for how he knew… well, that is for his discretion. You should not be deceiving your family like this, Elizabeth, it is disgraceful and –" He abruptly remembered there was an audience and controlled his temper with a large huff of breath. "Lizzie –"

"Don't call me that." She hissed vehemently. Her eyes were bright and sharp, but Daniel Minton ignored the warning signs.

"Lizzie, you are to come and stay with me until the wedding." He persisted. Elizabeth half-choked on her breath and was about to argue when Horatio discreetly shook his head. She had to behave herself if he could save her.

"Very well, Daniel. Take me home please." She said with as much dignity and civility as she could manage. Daniel shot him a foul look.

"Wait outside, if you will, Lizzie." Elizabeth and Mr Gray left the room, and Daniel glared at Horatio. "You, sir, are a crook and an embarrassment to His Majesty's navy. You are not to see my fiancée again, you understand me? Good day to you sir." He didn't even bow as he left. Horatio felt as if the air had been knocked from him. There was a crushing pain in his chest… Never see Elizabeth again?

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

One week. That was all it took for Daniel Minton to announce his engagement and the date of his wedding in the Portsmouth Chronicle. Horatio crumpled the paper and threw it into the tavern fireplace. Never see Elizabeth again… Hell to it! He'd goddamn see her when he goddamn wanted. With that ferocious thought, he snatched the sleeve of a passer-by and demanded to know where the Minton residence was. After brief instruction, he tipped the stranger and hailed a cab.

"Weavedon Grange, please."

He paid the cab-driver and tucked himself inconspicuously in the bushes on the manor's driveway. He could see movement, and snuck closer for a look, adrenaline pounding in his veins. There she was. His heart leapt to his throat. She looked strained. She looked strong, like a weak sapling buffeted in a cruel wind, but held firm. He smiled. Her spirit had not broken. Daniel was there too, pompous and ugly. Horatio settled to watch, waiting for his opportune moment, which was sure to come. As darkness began to shroud the dusk, Elizabeth and Daniel seemed to have some sort of ruckus and the Earl stormed out of the house, shouting for his horse and trap. Horatio dug himself deeper into the shadows, and waited until the hooves had faded into the difference. He watched Elizabeth disappear through some double doors. He crept around the side of the house, watching her silhouetted against the candlelight, as she made her way to the back of the manor.

"Elizabeth." He hissed, and he saw her leap in surprise.

"Horatio?" She darted to him, not daring to believe her eyes. He smiled as she ran her fingers across his face and shoulders, as if trying to recognise him by touch.

"Yes. I'm sorry, I couldn't keep away. He warned me –"

"I know. I hoped you'd come. I hoped I could see you one last time." He frowned at the words.

"Elizabeth, you don't have to stay, you can come with me."

"No." She stepped away from him. "I can't. Horatio, I wanted you to come so that I could say goodbye properly. I can't bear the thought of not saying…" She bit her lip. The breeze played with her hair as they stood silently together. Reaching out, he took her face in his warm soft hands and tenderly turned it to his own. She looked up at him, expecting to see anger, hurt. But he seemed content just to gaze down at her, drinking in her moonlit appearance.

"You are so beautiful." He breathed the words. They were so soft, she almost thought he had never spoken and she had only imagined his voice. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, allowing herself to lean into him. He was there; she could smell wood and ocean. He was real. She could feel his warm breath on her face and feel the warmth of his body through the scant inches that separated them. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but the words did not come. They hung suspended and glimmering between them, trembling with emotion and the unspoken desire.

He wrapped one arm around her as his other hand gently cupped her chin, his thumb caressing her cheek, as his lips descended on hers. His lips were soft and his kiss was gentle. She pressed against him, wanting to absorb his heat into her. She could feel the tautness of the muscles in his chest and the solid strength of his arms as he curled his other arm around her and his lips demanded more, crushing her to him. She gave herself up fully to him, allowing herself to need him. She needed his strength the same way he needed hers. One night… just one night… that's all she needed… just one night… It was wrong; it was a crime, a sin… But she didn't care. She couldn't care…

She took his face between her hands and deepened the kiss they were sharing. He groaned deep within his chest at her boldness and tightened his embrace. Then, with his arms locked securely around her, she took a few stumbling steps in the direction of the house, awkward with desire, desperate for him to follow. He complied, knowing the implication, and yet not caring.

The only light in her room was that of the moon, and by its blue hue they removed each other's clothes slowly. Her dress slid to the floor silently, and he carefully untied her corset with reverie. She unbuttoned his shirt and it joined her dress on the floor. Gone was the frenzied need from the garden, it was instead replaced by a slow, languid, feeling. As if they were drowning, slowly sinking together into the deep sea of their passion, drowning in each other. His mouth and hands were tender yet firm as they roamed over her body, lightly skimming the skin that shone like ivory in the pale night light. A gentle breeze stirred the curtains, creating a pattern of ever-shifting light and shadow across his bare chest. Her hand traced the changing design lightly, enjoying the way goose bumps appeared on his skin from her touch. She reached up and touched the silver pendant that hung around his neck, the sapphire glinting promisingly.

His mouth found hers once again. Slowly, his tongue and lips reacquainted themselves with the taste and feel of her. Her hand snaked up to cup the back of his head, the fingers tangling within the dark curls they found there. He abandoned his breeches as he tenderly laid her on the bed. The wind outside strengthened and blew cool air on their naked bodies, contrasting with the heat of skin against skin. A strong gust of wind blew the curtains wide, exposing their entwined bodies on the bed to the jealous moon. His hand caressed the length of her moon-enhanced torso, stroking the outside curve of her chest slowly and ran down to her hip. She sighed with yearning into his open mouth before it lowered onto the delicate arch of her collarbone. Elizabeth gasped when his warm mouth trailed down to the curve of her breast. He teased the sleeping nipples into waking, using his tongue and lightly scraping teeth. With her heart thumping loudly in her ears, she tracked the length of his spine with long graceful strokes and shifted the position of her legs, provoking another one of his deep groans. She arched into him pleadingly.

Quickly sliding up the length of her body, his lips reclaimed hers as he fervently joined their bodies in the same movement, coupled by small cry from her. He paused, feeling her maidenhood pressed against him.

"I'm sorry." He murmured against their lips. He couldn't bring himself to do it, and she looked at him, realizing this. With a sudden movement downwards with her hips, and a small whimper, she broke the barrier and buried him deep inside. They froze there, suspended in time as he looked down into the eyes of his angel.

They began to move involuntarily, no longer able to prolong the pleasure. Digging her fingers in the tight muscles of his shoulders, she cried out soundlessly as he began to move over her, overcome with sensations. Elizabeth snaked her legs around Horatio, forcing him deeper inside of her, making him move deeper in her. She felt her whole body tensing, the tingling hot sensation starting to spread across her body beneath her skin, spasms starting to take over her. The feel of him in her filled her completely, took her over, pushed her over the precipice and made her plummet in whirling darkness and bliss. Her whole body taken over by the sensation, she moaned deep and guttural as she bit Horatio in the shoulder to keep herself from screaming.

Horatio felt Elizabeth tensing under him and around him, her legs forcing him deeper inside of her, and she bucked under him, her soft lovely body so hot and full of ecstasy taking him closer and closer. He felt his body tensing, filling, making him tingle all over. He held on, not wanting to fall before her, going deeper inside of her, and then feeling her peak. As he felt her teeth scraping his shoulder he could not hold it anymore, and he spilled himself deep inside of her with a long-held moan.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Her skin felt oddly cold without him against her. She searched for him next to her in the bed, but found he had gone, leaving a small dip in the sheets. Her eyes flew open and stared around, her heart pounding fretfully. He stood at the end of the bed, buttoning his shirt. His breeches and boots were already on.

"Horatio." She whispered, making him jump. He looked at her and smiled, and she returned it languidly. She reached out to him, and he knelt on the bed, leaning over and kissing her lightly.

"I have to go." He breathed.

"No. Stay forever."

"I can't." He chuckled. She sat up as she watched him brush the creases from his shirt. He looked at her. "I can come back for you…" He began, but her eyes stopped him. She shook her head.

"You can't." She stood, letting the sheets slip from her still naked body. He felt a stirring in his groin again and swallowed hard. "Horatio." She pressed a hand on his cheek and it took all his will not to take her again. "I love you." He groaned, shutting his eyes.

"Don't say that, or I may never leave." She laughed.

"But I do. And I will always. I promise." She tripped over to her vanity table and unlocked a small jewelry box. She lifted a ribbon out, a naval button tied to it. "I'll keep it forever." She shrugged, placing it back again and picking up a mantle from a chair and draping it about herself. Suddenly, there was a noise downstairs. Voices. Elizabeth looked horrified. "It's Daniel!" She grabbed his arm, ushering him out of her room and towards a small back stairwell. "Quickly. This leads to the kitchens. Go!" He paused, one foot on the stairs, looking back up at her.

"I'll love you. Always." She kissed him quickly.

"We'll never see each other again." She predicted. "But I won't ever forget you. You were my angel."

"And you were mine." He kissed her again. There were footsteps on the front stairs.

"Go!" She snapped, and he rushed away, having an odd feeling of dèja vu, except this time, he could feel his heart break.


End file.
